


Do Not Test Me.

by halelujah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Also Stiles & Erica are bros, Angst, BAMF Allison, BAMF John, BAMF Stiles, Because I love them like that, Danny Mahealani Finds Out, F/M, M/M, Multiple Pov, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Slow Build, So yay!, Some Season 3 spoilers, Stiles Feels, Stilinski feels, but there will be Sterek, not sure where this is going, werewolf!Lydia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 75,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halelujah/pseuds/halelujah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek told him he wasn't Pack, he knew better than to bring Allison into it. She was human yes, but she was also a lethal one, a <i>Huntress</i>, the head of the Argent clan and also Scott's girlfriend. She was Pack if not by association then by her very own merit. </p><p>His connection was too Scott and evidently, being just a <i>best</i> friend and human, wasn't concrete enough to be brought into the fold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One.

**Author's Note:**

> I really love the fics where Derek kicks Stiles out of the Pack for whatever reason only to you know, realise what an idiot he's being. Hah. This is sort of like that, but I'm hoping mine won't be that type of fic. Not that I'm saying they're bad or anything, I just wanted to put my own spin on that, so ah. Yeah. Also, not sure how I'm gonna go about this, but please be patient with me. :)  
> Enjoy.

"I’m the Alpha, what I say, goes. Even if I did want you in the Pack, you'd only be a liability. You _are_ the liability."

Stiles wouldn't necessarily say his heart just shattered, but fuck, it sure felt like it had. 

Was he really saying that he wasn't Pack? After all the times he bled for them, stood in direct line of danger when they were, when _Derek_ himself was crumpled on the floor in agonising pain? After all the late nights of staying up and researching all types of creatures that usually ended up giving him nightmares of tearing through his front door to get to him, to his father? 

"If that's the case, if you're really saying I'm not Pack," Stiles spoke, ever thankful that his voice didn't crack, "Then you do the research on your own. You don't get any free passes of crawling into my window at ass o'clock, demanding me to get up and take a look at something. You leave me out of it."

A low whine was heard behind him but he ignored it. Stiles knew it was Scott, knew his best friend could see and hear the tell tale signs of the utter heart break flaring in his chest. 

He also knew Scott wouldn't say anything. Ever since finally accepting Derek as his Alpha and moving up the rank to Second, he would be going against his instincts to step in. And his Alpha. 

Never say that he, Stiles Stilinski, isn't a best friend. Allowing his brother from another mother to unconsciously choose a side that wasn't his, despite facing everything they've faced and including a decade of friendship? Yeah, he deserved a medal for this. No, screw that. He deserved a fucking shrine. 

Derek nodded, expression blank and eyes guarded. "Leave."

This wasn’t the Derek he came to know, the one that had tackled him into a pile of leaves last week. Or the one that helped Allison and Isaac bake cookies for Erica’s birthday two weeks ago. This was the Derek that had demanded Stiles to start his Jeep or else he was going to have his throat ripped out. With teeth.This wasn’t the Derek that Stiles, may or may not have been pining after for the past six months.

Several whines hit his ears, but Derek's eyes flickered crimson, upper lip pulled up in a silent snarl. The whines stopped. 

With a nod of his own, he spun around and faced the Pack, a reassuring smile playing on his face. From the way everyone was frowning back at him, it probably looked more like a grimace. 

Lydia and Jackson were hunched together, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and hers coiled around his waist, fingers looking suspiciously like claws digging into fabric and skin. Isaac, Boyd and Erica were standing to their right, both blonde haired werewolves lips pulled between their teeth, eyes wide and pleading. Whether that was directed at him or Derek, Stiles wasn’t so sure.

The worst though was Scott, who was being held back by Allison. His best friend had picked up on the high pitched whining, looking almost close to tears as Allison held a white knuckled grip on his bicep, her own expression sad and defeated.

They had all tried to say something but what Derek said was true. What he said, goes and if no one liked it, they were forced to. Not that Derek used his special Alpha voice often, only in risky situations. Apparently having him in the Pack was considered a risky situation. He fought back the urge to walk over to them and pull them into a hug. Technically, he was a threat to them and Derek’s wolf most likely wouldn’t like that and would cut down any and all dangers, even if it was him. Especially since he had a blade dipped in wolfsbane strapped to his thigh.

Letting his eyes take them in, he swallowed before walking towards the front door of the newly furnished Hale house, head held high. Even though all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry at Derek's feet, to beg to let him stay, he had his pride to think about. And if he wasn’t going to have them as a Pack, you can be damn sure he’ll have his pride.  
Climbing into his Jeep, he threw the car into reverse and with one more look at the house, drove off. 

***

Gasping, Stiles tried to even his breathing as his vision blurred with tears. He had managed to get home in one piece, fighting against what was going to be the biggest panic attack of his young life, and stumbling into the bathroom where he could cry in relative peace. 

Stiles wondered what he must have looked like as he wrapped his arms around his shins, forehead pressed firmly into his knees and water running down his spine. He didn't really remember sitting down but, here he was, rocking back and forth while sobs and hiccups tore from his throat. 

He knew that he shouldn't really be hunched forward, he could feel the tugging at the stitches in his side, but the pain was keeping him from being hurtled into the anxiety that was waiting at the edges. 

This was what started the whole ' _lets kick the human out of the Pack_ ' and how fucking cliché was that? Apparently though, it wasn't since he was living proof that it could still happen. 

When Derek told him he wasn't Pack, he knew better than to bring Allison into it. She was human yes, but she was also a lethal one, a _Huntress_ , the head of the Argent clan and also Scott's girlfriend. She was Pack if not by association then by her very own merit.

His connection was too Scott and evidently, being just a _best_ friend and human, wasn't concrete enough to be brought into the fold. 

He had no idea how long he had shed tears but gathering from the lukewarm water, it had been for a while. Fuck. His dad was not going to be happy about the water bill. He couldn't find it in himself to care. 

Standing on shaky legs, he scrubbed at his skin till it was raw, red welts puckering up where his nails had dragged and dug in. Because he wasn't Pack, he couldn't carry their scent. He read enough on wolves to know that. 

Finally getting out of the shower and pulling on a pair of sweats, he walked shirtless to his room, not at all surprised to see a blonde perched on his bed. 

"Hey there, pretty lady," he greeted, closing his door with a quiet click. "You shouldn't be here." 

"He’s wrong," Erica replied, pinning him with cocoa eyes that flashed with gold, nose flaring, most likely at the lack of or dim scent of them on his person. "You _are_ Pack. To all of us."

He sighed heavily before walking over to sit beside her. Instantly she climbed into his lap, small whimpers coming from the back of her throat as she snuggled into him, arms and legs curling around his body. 

Ever since finding Erica and Boyd slumped and bloody in his room, the she-wolf and he had gotten closer. He hadn't even allowed anyone from the Pack into his house, - the perks of having Mountain Ash stashed in his room - to see them until they were completely healed and ready to face Derek, and explain why the Alpha Pack had released them. 

Gone were the days where he was smashed in the head with his own car parts and left to wake up in a dumpster. Now it was having her come over to watch movies and her wrapping around him like some cuddle monster. Or sneaking into Jungle and dancing until they were ready to drop in exhaustion. And when they didn’t want to do any of that, they just went into his room and talked about everything and anything, sometimes subjects being personal, other times about who would win in a face off; a mutated octo-shark or croco-seal. Well, Stiles guessed it wasn’t going to be like that anymore.

He ran a soothing hand down her spine, "He's your Alpha, you can't go against him."

She pulled back, tears sliding down her face and clumping her eyelashes together. She wasn't wearing any makeup or tight clothing and her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, blonde curls tumbling down over her shoulder. Stiles thought she never looked so beautiful. 

"We can, I've read your books." She insisted, arms locking around his neck, "If the Alpha didn't do what the Pack approved of, he lost their support or another wolf would challenge him."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, "And who exactly is going to challenge Derek?"

She made a face. "We all could take him on." 

Despite the warmth in his chest, Stiles laughed. "Beautiful, as much as I am proud of your fighting skills, Derek is an Alpha and a born werewolf. He's a lot stronger than you."

"Jackson's a born werewolf too." Erica pouted, leaning down again to bury her face in the curve of his neck. 

He had to give her a point for that because yeah, that was true. Lets just say that week where a pack of nomads stumbling into Beacon Hills and scenting Jackson for the first time since his birth, had been quite eventful. 

They had demanded that being the only living descendent of Ashley and Stan Michaels, he should come home with them. Wherever home being that is. Anyway, since his biological father had been human, he was born half of a werewolf. A hybrid. If it weren't for Derek's bite, Jackson would have stayed somewhat human and undetected by other wolves. Stiles wasn't sure how the mechanics worked and quite frankly he didn't want to. It was sometimes good to leave things well alone. 

Ultimately and obviously, Jackson chose to stay here, but still kept in contact with his aunt, who happened to be the Alpha of her pack. 

"Yes, he is a little bit stronger than you guys." Stiles conceded, "But do you really want Jackson as your new Alpha?"

He felt more than saw Erica shake her head. He smiled softly before leaning back, laughing gently when they ended up being draped across his bed, Erica's chin pillowed on his chest with a giggle. 

"As much as it makes me really happy that you'd fight for me, I need you and the Pack not to." He murmured. "It's too dangerous to fight Derek and even more life threatening if you leave him. Having an Alpha here makes all of you stronger and safer."

The blonde's smile disappeared, eyes losing the warmth that had swirled there. "But we're stronger and safer with you there too. _I'm_ stronger and safer with my Batman watching over me."

Fighting off the urge to cry again, he hugged her close and pressed his lips against her temple, "I'm sorry Catwoman, but Batman's gotta retire sometime."

***

It was early in the morning when Erica left, the sun slowly peeking over the horizon with warm colours of pink and orange. Completely and utterly the opposite of what Stiles was feeling.  
She wrapped him in her arms and squeezed, and despite the flare of pain on his left hip, he hugged her just as tightly, having each other’s scents on the other be damned. 

Stiles closed the window and locked the latch with a sigh as he watched her disappear into the trees. He glanced down to his hand, feeling the weight of the pouch on his palm before sprinkling some of its contents out onto the windowsill. 

Making an even line of the Mountain Ash, he tucked the powder close to the window pane, checking to see if it was easy to spot and to remove it. After all the lies he had told his father, he wouldn't be surprised if the Sheriff didn't snoop around his room when he wasn't home. Stiles wasn't proud of it, but he had hidden everything all over his room, places his father wouldn't even think to look for. Books had been cut out at the pages, smaller bound ones slipping easily into them and perched on his bookcase, mixed in with all of his favourite authors. Mountain Ash filled the once Ant Farm he used to own as a kid, set on his desk, out in the open or concealed under the small plant in the pot to his right. Behind said desk was a loose floorboard that held all the daggers and wolfsbane bullets with matching gun, courtesy of Chris Argent. 

Speaking about all of that, he had to give everything back. Stiles was one hundred percent serious when he told Derek he wanted nothing to do with the Pack and supernatural world. 

With another sigh, he began going around his room, taking out everything from its hiding place and placing them in the centre of his room. 

Running downstairs quickly, - not bothering to be quiet since his father was at work- he grabbed the cardboard box that had once held their new TV before returning to his bedroom. 

Shoving everything into it, books lining the bottom, random articles of clothing members of the Pack he had found folded on top, and the locked chest that kept the bullets and gun away from prying hands placed on top. Thumbing the ant farm, he mulled over what to do with it. Stiles knew that it was only time before someone else from the Pack crawled into his room and the only way he knew to keep them away, was this.

He kept the Mountain Ash. 

Stiles looked down at the box with a rolling sensation taking centre stage in his stomach. This was it. He was literally closing the door -lid- on the Supernatural world. Grasping the key that hung off a long chain around his neck, he placed it with the note on the box before folding the flaps and sealing it shut with duct tape. 

Now he just had to leave it on the porch without being detected. 

***

Lydia nearly face planted when she hit something on her way out of her front door. Scowling, she kicked the box that was at her feet before dropping to her knees when noticing her name in familiar handwriting. 

Stiles. 

She hadn't even heard anyone come close to the driveway little alone the front door. Sneaky little shit. 

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she used her claws to cut through the tape, face crumpling when she took in what was in the box. 

Swallowing, she picked up the note that had been held down by the key Lydia always saw Stiles wearing and opened it. 

_You'll be needing these books more than I will. Don't touch the box, it's got wolfsbane in it, that's to be returned to Argent. Don't want that lovely skin of yours to be blistered. Take care of them and yourself Lyds. Stiles.'_

"Oh, Stiles." She whispered, running her fingers over the note, "What has he done?"


	2. Chapter Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Of course it isn't fair!" Stiles replied, with a glare. "I don't like this any more than you do."
> 
> "Then why did you just let Derek kick you out?" Lydia frowned, eyebrows furrowed in that tell tale sign that she was trying to figure the situation out. 
> 
> Any other time that look would have sent a sigh of relief passing his lips, because it meant that the threat would be taken care of, sooner than later. But right now at this very second, it just made him angry. Like he needed another reason to go over Derek's piss weak excuses and think about when his demeanour had changed towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh. Thank you guys for the comments and kudos! I didn't expect this to get that much of a response but I'm not going to lie. It tickled me pink to know that you liked what I've got so far, so I pushed myself to get another chapter out. I hope you like it.  
> Also, if I've described the school horribly, I apologise. I live in Australia and have no idea how the timetable of an American school works, especially when it comes to having a cafeteria. We don't have those here, we just have tiny, little canteens that are the size of my room. Hah. So, yeah.  
> Enjoy. :)

Okay, so maybe Stiles should have thought about this before stepping out of his Jeep in the school parking lot. But in his defence, he couldn't really think of the cons of the situation when you know, he felt nothing more like a loose leaf caught in a hurricane. 

All throughout the weekend, Stiles had debated with himself whether or not to drive up to the Hale house and get some answers. After everything, he should have the right to know what the reasons behind his forced disposal was, correct? Correct. 

Even though Derek didn't voice it, Stiles knew that when being banished or, in his case, denied being initiated into the Pack, he had to basically pretend they were nothing but blurred faces in a crowd, so as much as it pained him, he did.

He had changed numbers, telling his father that he kept getting calls on a private number asking if he had a pretty mouth. Something that wasn't totally a lie. He did have someone calling him and asking that, it's just that the idiot either forgot or didn't know that the _number was on display_. Despite that though, it was still fucking creepy because knowing his luck, it was some creepy old guy with missing teeth that you didn’t allow near the children at family barbeques.

Added on top of that was the twenty-four hour wolf visit schedule he was somehow on. Stiles couldn't even take a piss without hearing someone trying to get into the house, muffled whimpers being heard, the sounds of shoes scuffing the sides of the house.

It had hurt going around to all the windows and cutting a jagged line between each side of the window and spreading Mountain Ash in the crack, but it had to be done. The Pack would only still come and he didn't want them disobeying Derek. Didn’t want a reminder to how cold and detached he was when he said he wasn’t Pack. That he wasn’t wanted.

The back and front door were a bit more difficult in blocking it off, but Stiles wouldn't be Stiles if he didn't have a plan. Pouring some Ash in to the can of lacquer, he mixed it thoroughly before applying four coats of it on the floorboards before each door and the framework. Just because the Pack couldn't walk on the planks of wood, didn't mean they wouldn't use the door-frames to propel themselves over it. He's seen them do it despite the immense pain they‘d endure to do so. 

Between all of that, an awkward dinner and breakfast with his father and having a bit of a sulk again in the safety of his room - he was entitled to it, Goddamn it - Stiles couldn't tell you which way was up. 

Which brought him to his newest dilemma. School. He had no idea what he was going to do though because _he had classes with each and every one of them_. He resisted the urge to brain himself on his steering wheel.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Stiles muttered when eyeing Jackson's Porsche further up the lot. He'd just have to ignore them, that's all he could do. Admittedly, that was easier said than done.

With a sigh that honestly was just a shaky exhale, Stiles rummaged through his backseat and pulled his hoodie from its place jammed between the seats. Slipping it on and shoving earphones in his ears, he jumped out of his Jeep, hiked his bag over one shoulder and began his trek to class. 

Keeping his head down, hood covering his face, he walked passed where he knew Jackson and Lydia were leaning against his car, most likely waiting for everyone else to show up like they usually did. Just as he hit the empty parking space by the Porsche, Melissa's car came to a screeching stop, Scott and Allison tumbling out from behind the door. 

When the low, barely there whines pierced the air, Stiles pressed play on his iPod, wincing slightly when Shakira sang about her hips not lying. Bloody Isaac and his obsession with the way said hips move, the freaking perve. He was never telling anyone his Apple password again. He was blocked from moving further and just by the heels alone, he knew who it was. He sighed and pressed pause.

"Erica, please don't do this." He muttered, glancing around for any lurking figures or black Camaros. 

"Stiles."

When finding none of that, he brought his gaze back to her, chest restricting when he took in what she was wearing. 

Black skinny jeans were tucked into the knee high boots she wore, moulding to her hips and legs like a second skin. But that wasn't what had a sad smile playing on his face. 

It was the red plaid shirt she had on, arms rolled up to her elbows, three buttons undone to show off the curve of her neck and swell of her breasts. A black belt circled the small of her waist and bunching the material up a little, the hem of the shirt brushing against the middle of her thighs.

It was his shirt. The one that had been missing for a few months. Stiles had practically tore his house apart looking for it, and when coming up short, asking everyone if they had seen it, the blonde wolf being the first person to be interrogated since she was in his room more often than not. 

His mouth went dry when he flicked his eyes over all of them, each member of the Pack wearing an article of his clothing. He bit his lip hard, trying not to grin when realising that Derek would have seen half them, his scent covering them in a blanket of comfort. Hey, he can freely admit that he was slightly sadistic. In the life he lived, it was dangerous not to.

Boyd and Isaac had on the fingerless leather gloves he thought he lost last year when running for his life from fairies, - trust him, they were nothing like Tinkerbelle, they were vicious little things with a mouthful of sharp teeth and an obsession with Stiles’ blood - Isaac taking the left one, Boyd with the right. 

Allison had on his Ironman scarf he had gotten from Lydia for Christmas and Scott was wearing his bright green Chuck Taylors. Lydia was probably the most adorable. She was wearing his black beanie, strawberry blonde curls coming out from under it in waves to brush against her ribs.

Stiles honestly didn't know what to say. 

Surprisingly, it was Jackson, adorning his navy blue skinny jeans, that cracked first. "It's not fair."

He and Stiles had never really gotten along, what with the Lydia thing, but when they were establishing the Pack, they had been civil, if not polite. 

Then when his parents' pack came into Beacon Hills and flipping out on them, if you wanted to find the blue eyed male, you'd often find him in Stiles' bed, squeezing the fuck outta him. He'd even had bruises at one stage, not that he could fault Jackson. It was a pretty big life alteration. After that, they were fine, they were a Pack. 

"Of course it isn't fair!" Stiles replied, with a glare. "I don't like this any more than you do."

"Then why did you just let Derek kick you out?" Lydia frowned, eyebrows furrowed in that tell tale sign that she was trying to figure the situation out. 

Any other time that look would have sent a sigh of relief passing his lips, because it meant that the threat would be taken care of, sooner than later. But right now at this very second, it just made him angry. Like he needed another reason to go over Derek's piss weak excuses and think about when his demeanour had changed towards him. 

The hospital, his mind happily supplied. If he were a wolf, he would have snarled. 

"Because if I really am a liability to you all, I'm not going to risk you guys getting hurt." He replied, jaw ticked. 

"That's fucking bullshit and you know it." Scott growled, glaring too through a golden gaze. "We're alive because at one point, you saved each and everyone of us."

Boyd and Erica nodded wholeheartedly. 

"Where's the Stiles that would fight and argue with Derek every step of the way?" Isaac screeched, literally screeched. 

He fought against the urge to rush forward and wrap him up in a hug, while cooing over his rambunctious curls. Shut up, even the coldest person wouldn't be able to resist fawning over his curls, they were a masterpiece. 

Suddenly, Stiles got a flash back of Isaac curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his midsection, blood and dirt mattering his hair. Added to that image was his father jabbing his finger in his direction and saying, snarling more like, that he killed his mother, that he was killing him. Like he was some type of omen. Maybe he was.

 _That_ , he thought with an internal wince, _was why I didn't question Derek._

Stiles swallowed the guilt forming in his throat. "That night, I didn't - it wasn't supposed to end like that."

"Dude, we knew we weren't going to make it out completely unharmed," Scott soothed, eyes returning to normal. "I'm just happy we're all alive. I’m happy _you’re_ alive.”

"Please, Stiles." Allison pleaded, pinning him with wide eyes, "Just come with us to Derek's and ask him to reconsider."

"I'm not going to ask him to reconsider," he replied firmly, heart breaking a little more when she, Lydia and Erica's gaze dropped down to their toes. In submission. "What's done is done."

With that said, he walked around them, making sure it was a wide arc before all but running into the halls of the school. 

Letting out a shuddering breathe, he steeled his spine. This day was only starting and he wanted nothing more than anything for it to just end already. 

***

By lunch, Stiles was on the verge of a breakdown. Keeping to himself was a lot harder than what the people in movies showed it to be. In three classes he had almost walked over to where one or two members of the Pack were seated, only to remember that he wasn't supposed to know they existed. He ignored the way they tried to grab his attention or the way their eyes burned holes into his flesh, burying themselves further into him than before. It hurt, it fucking _hurt_ so much not to turn around and comfort them, to tell them that it was alright because it wasn’t and it’d be hypocritical to say so.

Standing in the cafeteria wasn’t any better. He wasn’t going to sit in there, opting to just sit outside and he didn’t know, work on his tan or something but automatically his feet had taken him there when the bell shrilled its way throughout the school grounds.

Cursing himself when six heads snapped their attention towards where he stood awkwardly at the doors, he couldn’t very well turn tail and run. Well he could, but everyone knew he didn’t have any self preservation, so he pushed himself to line up, tray in hand. He could do this, he could.

"Hey Stiles, heard you quit the Lacrosse team," Danny spoke, stepping up beside him. "Is that because of the car accident or something?"

"Or something," he replied, with a nod and giving him a soft smile. 

That was what he had told his father to explain away the massive dent in the passenger door of his Jeep that he didn’t have the money to repair. His poor baby.

Naturally his father didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth because he was a lying liar who lies, but that was the price to pay for keeping him safe. The Sheriff had poked holes in his story, asking with a scowl why he was in the middle of the forest, a gash so massive on his side Stiles honestly thought his insides were going to spill out. He had just shrugged and claimed he didn’t even remember climbing out of the car, little alone walking into the woods. Which you know, was complete bullshit, he knew it and so did his father.

"And would that something have to do with Scott looking like someone kicked his puppy?"

Stiles snorted because, irony ladies and gentlemen. “Probably.”

Danny shook his head with a frown, dimples on display as he picked his way through the assorted foods before them. “I don’t know when it happened but you and Scott have formed _something_ with Jackson and Lydia. Then out of nowhere Lahey, Boyd and Erica are sitting with you all like you’ve been best friends since birth. Wanna explain how that happened?”

This wasn’t the first time Danny had asked this and usually, Jackson was around to distract him. It was just his freaking luck that this is what he had to talk about on his first day back from spending a few days in hospital.

Feeling slightly cynical, he gave him a cheeky smile. “Well, everyone besides Allison and I are werewolves and they’re in a Pack.”

Danny grinned with a laugh, deepening the dimples on each smooth cheek. “Funny, Stiles. Very funny.”

He lifted a shoulder, ignoring the wide eyed peanut gallery across the room, “One of my many attractive characteristics, I imagine. Wouldn’t you agree, Danny boy?”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed his tray, “I cannot confirm or deny these accusations at this present time. Please refer to my lawyers for any or all questions you may have.”

“I’m taking that as a yes!” Stiles shouted after him, a silly grin on his face.

When turning around again and glancing over at where the Pack was, he was hit with several puppy dog eyes and frowning faces. His grin faded as his heart lurched in his chest, feeling very much like a knife was just shoved in his ribs and twisted.

Stiles dropped his tray and ran out of the room. He couldn’t do it, he just couldn't.


	3. Chapter Three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There had to be a reason why he would think to do such a drastic action,” Deaton soothed, “You just have to trust him to figure out what a mistake this action could cause.”
> 
> “Trust him?“ Stiles raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “How can I trust him when he clearly can’t trust me?”
> 
> This time he got a cryptic grin. "I once told Derek that he needed to put his trust in someone. He assumed it was Scott but it's always been you, Stiles. Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I've rambled, I'm sorry.  
> Thanks for the comments and kudos, everyone! I appreciate it. :D

"This is just getting ridiculous." Stiles muttered, with a shake of his head, turning left into the parking lot of Deaton's Veterinary Clinic. 

Three weeks it had been since he actually spoke to anyone from the Pack and even though it pained him to see them or the familiar Camaro outside of the school, he held up strong. 

That is until a few days ago. After losing a battle against the dryer in the laundry room, Stiles gave up and just decided to hang his and the Sheriff's clothes on the line. No big deal, right? Wrong. 

He hadn't noticed it until he went outside in the backyard one day and found something off with the scene in front of him. Some of his clothes were missing. Like, someone had come into their backyard and _stole his clothes off the line_. 

He knew he wasn't just losing his mind because he specifically remembers washing his Green Lantern shirt because of the suspicious stain on the front, that looked like ketchup but smelt like chocolate. 

He had pegged it between his boxers and his father's jeans, snorting at the image of his dad wearing his jeans with his shirt. But the shirt wasn't there anymore!

After that, he noticed a few of his shirts, jeans, shorts and even a pair of his boxers - it had to be Erica, she was the one always sleeping in a pair of his boxers and bra whenever she was over - going missing. 

It didn’t help that not two days after that, the Pack would show up to school with said missing clothes on. Like it was totally natural to steal someone's clothes and wear them a few days later. 

Today, clearly had been no exception. 

"You have _got to be kidding_ me!" He had snarled fed up, whirling around, leaving the basket where he dropped it in place of running into the house and grabbing his car keys. 

Now, ripping the door open to the Clinic, getting an exasperated look from the vet, Stiles made his way into the back room, not even waiting to make sure he was being followed. 

"Why are the Pack stealing my clothes?"

Deaton raised an eyebrow, walking around to face him on the other side of the metallic slab between them. "Wanna elaborate?" 

Growling beneath his breathe, he ran an errant hand through his hair, grimacing at the length. He needed to get it cut again. "Derek kicked me out of the Pack roughly a month ago. It was sudden, just after the Alpha Pack and not everyone agreed. No one did, actually. Derek pulled rank and made it final."

At this, the vet looked surprised. "I wonder why he would do such a thing," he murmured.

"Yeah, you and me both." Stiles replied darkly, anger flaring in his chest. 

He was still upset about his banishment, but now he was just pissed. Pissed at the distance between himself and his father, at the massive grave he dug for himself, at the world. At Derek for cutting his ties to the Pack without his consent, without remorse. 

"Scott hasn't said anything to me."

Stiles made a face. "I'm sure Derek ordered him not to. So, any ideas why I have less clothes?"

Deaton gave him a look he couldn't really decipher, which considering who he was talking with, didn't seem too farfetched. "Stiles, I'm sure you can figure it out. You just have to think."

Ugh, fuck _this_. He was so over this conversation and it hasn't even started yet.

"Look, I mean this in the most respectable way possible but; cut the bullshit and tell me what I'm supposed to think, because I'm losing patience and the will to keep going. I haven't had a decent meal in a week, haven't slept longer than that and I feel like there's this gigantic hole in my chest, and no matter what I do, I can't fill it!"

So maybe he was slightly over exaggerating but it was true. On the weekends - because he had no social life before the Pack, please not the sarcasm - he had tried alcohol and weed, sometimes at the same time. Despite being able to make his problems disappear for awhile, they still came back with a vengeance. And usually with a head splitting hangover. 

The vet quirked a smile and nodded. "When a Pack mate dies, wolves mourn, quite loudly and for a long period of time. Some wolves that I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, say that a small part of them dies with the deceased."

Stiles let out a frustrated sigh. That didn't answer anything. "Why would the Pack be mourn-" Then it hit him. Hard. "They think I've died."

Deaton nodded again, leaning on his palms that lay flat against the medical table. "Their wolf counterparts don't understand why you aren't around, why you're not answering their calls. I'm assuming they're grasping at straws."

"More like my underwear," he whispered, smiling sadly. His poor puppies. 

And whoa. _His puppies_? Where did that come from? 

It's not like there wasn't never a sense of _mine_ when it came to the Pack, because there was. He was theirs and they his. Not in that polygamous way, because eww. He did not need to think of Scott that way. Or, God forbid, Jackson. 

It was hard to explain how right it felt to say the Pack was his, not in an owning property way either but more of a claim, like they were apart of him. 

"And by the way you look," Deaton continued not noticing his silent freak out, "It's effecting you too."

"I thought humans couldn't be in a Pack." He said, stomach churning. What if this was why Derek kicked him to the curb?

The vet shook his head, amusement crossing his face at the audible sigh of relief that left his lips. "Anyone can be Pack if the wolf lets them, Stiles. Pack isn't just about survival though it plays a huge role, it's about belonging. About making ground on a common goal while working as a singular unit with a delicate balance, the Alpha doing their job as leader. You disturb that balance, it effects everyone in that unit, from top to bottom. Wanna tell me what you've been feeling like for the past month?" 

"I feel... hollow. Like there's something missing."

The vet gave him a gentle smile. "I suggest you talk to Derek. If the Pack is feeling this, he is too. And because he's the Alpha, it'll be more of an impact."

He let out a sound that was a cross between a snort and scoff. A snoff? A scort?

"But he's the one that _kicked_ me out!" He protested, arms flailing about, almost as if to put an emphasis on his words. "He's probably happy that I'm gone!"

“There had to be a reason why he would think to do such a drastic action,” Deaton soothed, “You just have to trust him to figure out what a mistake this action could cause.”

“Trust him?“ Stiles raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “How can I trust him when he clearly can’t trust me?”

This time he got a cryptic grin. "I once told Derek that he needed to put his trust in someone. He assumed it was Scott but it's always been you, Stiles. Always." 

*** 

Stiles tried to ignore it, he really did. But there was just so much he could handle before he could break. The fact that there would always be a pair of golden eyes, sometimes more than one, peering through his window late at night for example.  
With gritted teeth, he would just roll over and turn up his iPod, trying to will his heart to calm down, to block out the sad howls he could hear on the wind and through the music blaring in his ears. 

It never worked. 

***

Stiles refused to acknowledge the crimson eyes that shone in through the glass three days in a row.

***

Biting at his lip, Stiles debated with himself. Should he text the number he tried and failed to forget or should he call? Or should he just ignore Deaton's mumbo jumbo and continue to carry on with his life?

A flash of panic ripped through him at the thought of everyone being in more pain. It had gotten worse, the feeling of emptiness in his chest that rattled with every inhale. His appetite was waning to the point that his father would ask if he was alright, a frown marring his face. His hands shook, his attention shot and no amount of Adderall would fix it. He couldn’t sleep and it scared him to think that this agony was ten times that to the wolves.

With that thought in mind, he decided a text would do. It was something that had the physical ability to make your phone feel heavy with guilt until you answered it. 

_Get your wolfy ass here now. Come to my window, barrier has been broken. I’ll call the Pack if you're not here in the next ten minutes, and you know it._

There, it was to the point and it had a threat in it. He slapped a palm against his forehead. Oh, that's just great, Stiles. Bait the overprotective Alpha werewolf. Yeah he was going to die. 

The minutes ticked by slowly, each second passing only sending his heart rate sky high, to the point he thought he was going to break a rib. 

The sounds of his window sliding up was the only noise he got and he whirled around to see Derek scowling like someone spat in his favourite cereal. 

"I thought you said you were done with the Pack?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

He allowed himself to take Derek in, running his gaze over the dark circles under his eyes, the sickly paleness of his skin and the way he seemed to move as if the world sat on his shoulders. Basically, he looked like shit. A vindictive part of himself was glad. 

Stiles barked out a laugh. " _You_ said I was done with the Pack. Don't get it twisted." He retorted, standing up from his desk. He was slightly uncomfortable with having the Alpha look over him like that, despite having the urge to run into his arms and nuzzle into him. "And speaking about the Pack, we need to talk."

Derek raised both eyebrows this time. 

"They're stealing my clothes." He said, not even bothering to beat around the bush. "And I know why because it's effecting me too. By the looks of you, we're not the only ones having withdrawals."

"So?" Derek asked, folding his arms over his chest. His freakishly chiselled out of marble chest. 

God, even after a month of physically not seeing him had done nothing to the torch he held for him and wasn't that just a kick in the pants? You'd think after everything that happened with Lydia, his mind would win the war between heart and brain when it came to unrequited crushes, but obviously that was a big, fat no. 

Clearly he was more fucked up than he realised. 

"Why are you doing this?" Stiles demanded, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Do you really dislike me not being a werewolf so much?"

Derek's gaze hardened, jaw clenching tightly. "You have your uses being human, like Deaton."

"I don't want to be like Deaton!" He snapped, thanking whatever deity that may be listening that his father was on nightshirt. Again. He tried not to think of it like his own flesh and blood might be pushing him aside too. "I want to be apart of the Pack with my humanity intact!"

All he got was a red eyed glare. 

"You have no problems with Allison. Why am I the one you pick on?" 

Stiles tried not to sound like a child having a temper tantrum when being put in the naughty chair and watching everyone else go to lunch, but that's what ended up happening. 

"She's a hunter," the Alpha argued, "She's been trained."

"So have I! It's not like I've been sitting on my ass when everyone else trained." He shot back, only realising they were a lot closer than what they started out as.

He had been leaning back against his desk but now was standing in front of the door. Derek had begun to pace the length of his bed the second they started to argue and now, he was close enough for Stiles to lean over and touch. Not that he did, he liked his arm where it was, thank you. 

"We have bigger things to do than protect the human when engaging in a fight."

"Protect the human?" Stiles hissed, glaring. "Did you somehow manage to forget this human _protected_ you?! I killed two Alphas to protect you! I held you up in eight feet of water for two hours!"

"Irreverent." Derek retorted, "You needed me to survive then." 

He was going to punch him, he could feel it, hurting himself more than the werewolf be damned. 

"Oh, so I needed you to survive when the Kanima was doing laps around the pool, instead of just diving in and recreating a scene from Jaws?" Stiles snapped, stepping further into Derek's space, "I could have let your ass drown and just float there until Scott came to the rescue. And maybe if I was a heartless bastard like you, I would have." 

A low rumble echoed from within his chest and despite the tiny hitch in his breathing, Stiles didn't avert his eyes or back down. He wasn't scared of Derek, not anymore. 

It was between one blink of an eye to the next that Stiles found himself pinned to his bedroom door, toes of his sneakers barely brushing the floorboards that were once beneath his feet. Derek had placed his hands on the door, effectively hanging Stiles from their position under his arms. He honestly felt like a baby being held. That feeling had disappeared quite quickly when with another growl, Derek licked into his mouth, teeth just this side of sharp. 

He had precious seconds of being completely frozen until Stiles slowly nipped at Derek's bottom lip, shivering when the Alpha let out a muffled groan and crowded in closer. Pinching his side hard, body jolting at the pain, Stiles couldn't help but melt against the solid chest pressing him into the door. It was real. 

Oh, good God. _It was real_. 

Wrapping his legs around Derek's waist and locking his arms around his neck, Stiles tried not to pass out from having one of his fantasies come to life. Though, this was a lot freaking hotter than what his brain could come up with because all he could feel was heat, muscle and fucking stubble. 

Stiles whimpered when Derek hitched his hips forward, the sound being overshadowed by the constant rumble vibrating his body and sending delicious sparks of pleasure up Stiles' spine. Using the door as leverage, one hand sliding up to grip at his hair, he rolled his own hips forward, grinning against Derek's mouth as the grip around him tightened. 

Pulling back, the Alpha nosed his jaw line before nipping his way down to the long arch of his throat, Stiles immediately baring it to the wolf, head tilted to the right.

Derek growled louder, teeth and lips latching onto his pulse with heavy pulls and sucks, soothing it with laps and flicks of his tongue when Stiles let out a low hiss. 

"This is why you shouldn't be in the Pack," the Alpha groaned, moving back to capture his lips in a bruising kiss. "You act more wolf than human. Always the first one to protect our pups, always the one to confront danger."

Stiles whimpered as the rhythm of their hips grinding against one another became frantic. He was so close to coming, he could taste it. 

"Please, Derek." He panted, nails digging into the Alpha's shoulder blades. "I'm gonna -"

Because life wanted to make him her bitch, it was then that Derek decided to rip himself away from Stiles, chest heaving as he plastered himself against the opposite wall in his room. 

His hair was mussed, lips still slick from when Stiles licked the seam of his mouth and his eyes were flickering between hazel and crimson. Derek looked wrecked. Stiles probably didn't fare any better. 

"What the fuck?" He exclaimed, leaning against his door to keep from sliding down the length of it on shaky legs. 

"This was a mistake." Derek whispered, moving towards the window.

And like some vigilante in the night, disappeared. 

He wasn't sure how long he had stayed there, staring at his window but he knew it had to be a while. And annoyingly enough but not surprising, he was even more confused than before. Derek hadn't answered shit. All he gave Stiles were twisted answers and a boner. 

"What the fuck?"

***  
Stiles was probably having the worst day to eclipse all of worst days. He had woken up late from staying up and going over his and Derek’s conversation slash argument, only to end up just as confused as he was before, then needing to ah, take care of certain business twice when it arose. Shut up, it was a lot for a virgin to take in and if he should happen to milk this for a few months, then Goddamn it, that’s what he was going to do.

When glancing over at his alarm clock and seeing that it was usually the time he would be leaving, he managed to stub the same toe _three times_ in the ten seconds it took him to scramble off his bed and into the bathroom. Shoving his toothbrush into his mouth, he accidentally flicked toothpaste in his eye which he then proceeded to flail about while shouting and splashing water on his face, cursing the people who decided 'triple mint toothpaste' should be a thing.  
　  
He then tripped his way down the stairs, somehow missing the last two steps and literally falling face first, only just turning his head so he didn’t rearrange his face like some Voldermolt look alike.

Clearly someone was getting their kicks in watching him suffer.

And it just seemed to get worse from there. He received two detention slips - all from Harris because he was an ass - and got weird looks from the Pack when he collapsed in his seat. Weird looks. Not the usual pining, frowny faces they pulled whenever he was around.

Stiles watched from the corner of his eye when Erica and Isaac wrinkled their noses at Jackson, eyes widening when he nodded slightly. Scott let out a whimper and buried his head in his hands. He didn’t understand until Lydia, as if sensing his confusion and knowing her, that was probably the case, brushed the tip of her nose.

Oh, Holy mother of God. Derek. They could _smell_ Derek on him because he didn’t shower!

Despite looking worse for wear but still just as beautiful, Lydia grinned at the board in front of her, most likely at his heart skipping a few beats. Erica let out a giggle snort, the one that usually meant she was up to no good before something hit the side of his face.

Glaring at the ball of paper sitting on his desk, he slowly opened it like it was some sort of bomb. It probably was for all he knew, because whatever the fuck happened between Derek and him last night was just about to blow up in his face.

_Nice temporary tattoo, you got there Stiles. Trying to figure out what it is though. Kinda has the shape of someone’s mouth. And is that… teeth marks I see?_

Hickey. He had a hickey on his person. That fucker!

Stiles just ignored it. Whether because he was trying to keep away or because he was slowly dying of mortification, he couldn’t really tell.

It was another ten minutes before another note hit him on the cheek, this time from the other side. Grumbling under his breathe, he opened it to find Boyd’s block writing staring back at him.

_WHAT DID DEREK SAY? ARE YOU COMING BACK?_

He just shrugged before slumping forward, feeling boneless. He honestly didn’t know. Derek hadn’t explicitly said to stay away from the Pack. If he wanted him to, he would have said, right? Make sure that there were no changes?

Then, Stiles shook his head, smiling sadly when the wolves visibly deflated around him. He was just making loopholes for himself, getting his own and the Pack’s hopes up. And that wasn’t fair. But then again, neither was having Derek standing in the way of him and his friends, his brothers and sisters, his Pack.

Fuck, he hated Mondays.


	4. Chapter Four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now staring at his son slumped on his desk in his room, dark smudges under his eyes and face sunken in, he couldn't help but let out a shaky breathe. Something was going on in Beacon Hills and for the life of him, he couldn't think of what it was and why Stiles is smack dab in the middle of it. Or, was in the middle of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** ; There is a panic attack and the aftermath results of said panic attack written in this chapter. I don't know what happens with other people when it comes to anxiety attacks, but I've just added some of my own personal, experiences when it comes to them. There is use of an inhaler in this, despite the character not being asthmatic. If I've offended anyone I apologise.
> 
> Also, the first half of this is in the Sheriff Stilinski's POV.

John glanced around the tidy kitchen with a sad smile playing on his face. Just like everything in the house, it reminded him of Lisa, from how the furniture were placed, how his clothes smelt of the detergent she bought since they first moved in together, even down to the dish towel tucked over the oven door handle to dry just like how she taught Stiles. 

Stiles. 

God his boy was just like her. In looks and personality. She had always been eccentric, always wanted to live like tomorrow was her last day. When the cancer began deteriorating her body, he didn't realise how true that statement was.

Lisa had always tried to be strong whenever Stiles was around, always smiling and teaching him new games to play. Their favourite game was to pick five random words from the dictionary and use them all in a sentence before the day ended. Or in the last few months of her life, the end of visiting hours. 

He felt the familiar burn in his chest and clenched his hands, walked over to the cabinet to pull out the bottle of Scotch that rested there, only to stop in his tracks. There was a note taped to the neck. Eyebrow raised, he plucked the note off and read it out loud. 

"Put something in your stomach before you drink. Food's in the oven, do not add salt. Love you."

Was he that predictable? Guilt punched its way into his gut, low and hard. When did the father become the son and the son the father? The Sheriff was surprised to find that it had been like that for some time, ever since Lisa died. 

It felt like John was watching his life in movie form, watched a younger self bury his way into work and the bottle, trying to ignore the hole in his heart and the boy grasping his hand. The very same boy he had forgotten to pick up from school too many times to count, only to remember and race to the school an hour late and find out his nine year old son had walked three blocks home. By himself. The very same boy that from the age of eleven, learned how to cook and clean up after himself without any prompt. Not that John said anything to him anyway. 

His heart lurched in his chest. _He hadn't said anything to him_. He never comforted him, never asked if he was alright. 

He couldn't remember when the nightmares stopped, when the crying at night ceased. Back then, all Stiles just wanted was his father but he wasn't present, what was there instead was just a shell of what he was supposed to be. 

Now staring at his son slumped on his desk in his room, dark smudges under his eyes and face sunken in, he couldn't help but let out a shaky breathe. Something was going on in Beacon Hills and for the life of him, he couldn't think of what it was and why Stiles is smack dab in the middle of it. Or, was in the middle of it. 

John noticed that he wasn't hanging around crime scenes, wasn't missing curfew or showing up bruised and bloody anymore, not that that was alright but he still noticed. He wasn't the Sheriff just because of his good looks. 

He also discovered that Scott wasn't around. That the two teens were distant and have been for some time instead of joint at the hip like usual. Last week when he had gone around to Melissa's, her son had all but jumped out of the front door to get away from him. Even she recognised that he and Stiles weren't talking and that Scott was just as miserable as his own son. She also looked like she was fighting back against saying something and John tried not to pull at his hair in frustration. It seemed that everyone he knew was in on a secret and he was prohibited to know.

So what happened for them to have such a horrible falling out? They had been fine when Stiles was in hospital, John had to grab Scott by the ear to stop him from crawling all over Stiles too many times, though his son never minded, in fact John was pretty sure he welcomed it. 

Added to his confusion was the knowledge of finding Jackson, Lydia, Isaac Lahey, a blonde haired girl, a large brown skinned man and Scott's girlfriend Allison all piling on Stiles, looking very much like a flame to moths. And also, Derek Hale. A man Stiles claimed had tried to murder him and his friends at school. There were so many dots and too little connections for the Sheriff to figure it out what the bigger picture was. 

Running a hand over his face, he stepped further into Stiles' room, leaning over him and placing a gentle palm on his shoulder. 

"Stiles? Stiles?" John murmured, "Come on, son. Wake up."

He blinked sleepily before pinning him with large golden eyes. Eyes just like his mother. 

"Dad? What's wrong?" 

He shook his head, "Nothing Kiddo, just thought you might wanna sleep in a bed and not over a desk."

Stiles gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I think my back might like that."

He watched as he stood and stretched, the shirt he wore sliding up and showing off the reason why he had to spend a few days in hospital. 

God, that night had been horrible. First he gets a call saying that Stiles had been in some accident only to be found lying bloody in the Preserve by a couple out camping. Who had claimed they could hear fighting and animals snarling in the distance. 

John just managed to get to the hospital to see the EMTs rushing Stiles in and Jesus. There had been _so much blood_. It was like he had been dipped in it from the shoulders down. John thought he wasn't going to make it. He thought he was truly going to be alone and just, just how was he going to survive with losing everyone he loved?

The Sheriff had been so pissed when Stiles didn't give him answers to what really happened. Just gave him rehearsed crap about not remembering what hit the passenger side, not getting out of the Jeep and taking a leisurely walk in the woods. 

"You know you can talk to me, right son?"

Stiles stilled before facing him with a nod. "Yeah, I know dad."

He followed him to his bed, smiling at the muttered "I'm not six anymore, I can in fact get ready for bed by myself," when he helped put the covers over him. 

In his mind’s eye, he got a flashback of an excited Stiles eagerly asking to be tucked in and read his favourite bedtime story. God, he couldn't remember when he last did that. 

"Why do you ask, dad?"

Startled, he glanced back at Stiles. "What?"

"You said I could always talk to you, I was just wondering why you'd say that."

John sighed heavily before sitting down beside him and settling against the headboard. "You barely eat, you barely sleep and you're always going off into your own world. All you do is go to school and come home. I'm worried about you, son."

Stiles glanced down at his hands and wrung them together. "I'm fine, dad. I'm just... I'm just trying to be a good son for a change."

Stuttering out a breathe, he frowned. "What makes you think you're not one now?"

He let out a hollow laugh and turned his head away. "Don't act as if you haven't noticed how apart we are. We don't talk, we don't do anything like we used to and it's all my fault, because all I do is get in the way or mess everything up."

"Hey, hey, hey." John chided, gently grabbing him by the chin and bringing his gaze back to him. "Where is this all coming from?"

"Do you think I'm the reason why mum is gone?"

He felt like his world just collapsed, the air being squeezed from out of his lungs. Not just at the words that he blurted out but at the dead look in his eye, like he was hollow. "What? Why would you ever think that? Did anyone tell you this?"

Tears began to slide down his cheeks as he nodded softly, a small hitching in the back of his throat. "I had a dream and - and you were there and said _you killed your mother, do you hear me? And now you’re killing me_."

Oh God. 

Wrapping his arms around Stiles, he pulled him into his lap, not caring that his son was nearly seventeen when all Stiles did was let out a strangled sob, fingers clenching the material of his jacket as he buried his face in the curve of his throat. 

"I'm so sorry, daddy!" He cried, chest heaving, "I didn't mean to, I swear!" 

Gripping him tightly, he let out a shuddering breathe and blinked away his own tears. 

_God, Lisa. What have I done to our baby boy?_

"Shh, shh." John whispered, rubbing a hand up and down the length of his spine. "You didn't do anything wrong, you hear me, son? You did absolutely nothing wrong. I'm so sorry you think and dreamt that but that's not true. It isn't."

Stiles didn't answer, just cried harder and it took all of his self control not to punch himself in the face. How could he have been so obnoxious to think he was the only one effected by Lisa's death? That he was the only one she was leaving behind. 

He started to babble, things too fast for him to catch and others just too confusing, sniffs and wheezes underlying his words. Scott was mentioned, a pack of something and Derek. Then it was just pleas of _why did he push me away, why can’t I do anything right_ and the most heartbreaking of all, _why does everyone want to leave me?_

Pressing kisses to the crown of his head and temple, John rocked them side to side, humming the lullaby Lisa used to sing lowly when Stiles' sobs turned to gasps of breathe, into a panic attack. He tried to make a move to get the inhaler he knew was in the drawer but he couldn’t even twitch without sending Stiles into a frenzy. He willed his pulse to slow down, fear pushing against his ribs when it took a full minute before his son stuttered in a shaky breath before repeating. 

Pressing a shaky palm to his own chest, he murmured, "Breathe Stiles, feel my chest move. Come on, breathe with me. That's it, one more time. Again."

Finally, when his son calmed down, he shifted them until they were both laying down, Stiles nestled in the crook of his arms. 

"Your mother died because she had cancer not because of you," John whispered, thumbing away the stray tears under Stiles' eyes, heart thudding painfully when he avoided his gaze. "And you most certainly aren't killing me. I'm positive you're the reason why I've stayed alive for as long as I have. You keep me going Kiddo, you make me get out of bed in the morning. I'm just sorry I didn't realise how much you were hurting and in need of a father, in need of me. You shouldn't be the one apologising, it should be me."

He sniffed sleepily, clearly exhausted and rubbed a blotchy and heated cheek against his palm. "Don't leave me, don't push me away. Please."

Hugging him closer, John nodded. "Never again." He promised, closing his eyes. "Never."

***

Waking up slowly, Stiles groaned softly. Rubbing at his sore eyes, he sat up with a grimace and glanced around his room, finding his father was gone, but his jacket was laid out over the blankets that covered his waist. 

God, he felt like shit. He figured crying your weight of tears and then flinging yourself into an episode might do that to a person. Beautiful. 

Getting to his feet sluggishly, he cleared his throat, wincing when it felt like he swallowed a mouthful of razor blades and shards of glass. He hated panic attacks, he really did. 

"Morning," Stiles whispered, when he shuffled into the kitchen, head downcast. 

“Morning,” his father replied, placing a plateful of pancakes and cup of orange juice down in front of him. “How you feeling?”

He smiled, running a finger over the plate. They were just like the ones his dad would make on Sundays when he was home and they were a family. Where everyone was happy and alive.

“Better,” he said, glancing up at him from under his lashes.

The Sheriff sighed, before sitting opposite him, his own plate of pancakes settled front of him. “Are you sure, Stiles? Because I don‘t know if you remember, but you said some really confusing stuff last night.”

Fuck. He didn’t remember. 

He stiffened, mind going a mile a minute as to what he might have said. “What, what did I say?”

His father’s face crumpled. “You kept mentioning Scott, Derek and a pack of something. Kept repeating about someone pushing you away, why everyone wants to leave you and that you never did anything right. It took you twice as long to come down. Every time I tried to move to get your inhaler, you just, you screamed. I was sure you were going to have a heart attack. Kiddo, what’s going on?”

His body slumped and he took in a deep breathe before letting it out slowly, pausing for a minute to find the right words to say without opening the can of worms completely. “Scott and I aren’t friends anymore, I think. There’s some issues that are keeping us apart. I’m just sick of being set aside, ignored and left behind. Sick of not being good enough.”

“And these issues involve Derek, Jackson, Lydia, Lahey and Allison?”

Stiles nodded, heart twisting in his chest at the names. He missed them so much. “And Erica and Boyd.”

“They aren’t doing drugs are they?” His father asked, switching into Sheriff mode. “Not in some cult? Because Hale, the blonde, Isaac and Boyd wearing matching leather jackets doesn’t soothe my suspicions.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. And if it sounded slightly hysterical well, neither he or is father mentioned it because Lord knows it had been too long since he had a good laugh. “No, they’re not doing drugs and they’re not in a cult. They’re just a tight knit… group.”

He nodded, eyes still narrowed dubiously. “Why aren’t you apart of this tight knit group?”

Stiles’ grin faded and he fiddled with his orange juice before taking a hefty gulp. “I don’t want to lie to you, dad because I hate it. But that’s a question I can’t answer. It’s just something I have to keep to myself because it’s not my secret to share. Just know that they‘re doing everything they can to keep safe and out of trouble. There‘s no drug taking, gun trafficking and there‘s no animal sacrifices on Halloween.” 

The Sheriff nodded again, a small frown playing on his face. “I guess that’ll do. For now.”

He smiled thankfully at him before narrowing his own eyes down at his plate. Time for a subject change. “You better not have used butter or oil for this. Did you use the fat free milk too?”

Only like a Stilinski can when going with another topic to talk about, his father groaned, stuffing a big bite of pancake goodness in his mouth like he was scared he was going to have it ripped away from him. Which, was so completely going to happen. “And how do you expect me to cook pancakes with no butter or oil? Use my own spit? And If I want to use full cream milk, I will and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Stiles couldn’t help but grin again at the heavy weight that slowly fell from his shoulders. It felt almost like it did before Peter Hale had unleashed his Supernatural bullshit all over the place. It felt like home.

 

***

Something was up and Stiles didn’t like it.  
Ever since having the breakfast with his father and planning to have dinners together like old times at the start of the week, he and the Pack had been passing notes to one another, all of them stashed in his room for safe keeping, for rereading.

 

 _I’m sorry, dude._ (Scott.) _I miss you Batman._ (Erica) _Do you know how hard it is to research all this shit, Stiles, how the fuck do you do it?_ (Lydia.) _Can you wash that Green Lantern shirt again, I wanna wear it tomorrow._ (Isaac.) _My father asks how the Hell did you manage to lose a wolfsbane blade, guns and bullet in your room Stiles, he isn’t very happy._ (Allison.) And what is probably his favourite _Next time you make out with Derek, have a shower, I do not need to smell your UST more than I have to._ (Jackson.)

Boyd hadn’t written anything because he isn’t into that childish bullshit because he’s the lovechild of Buddha and Mr. Miyagi when it comes to being all Zen and shit. But he did draw him a big smiley face so he counted that as a win.

After replying with _It’s alright man, it’s totally cool. You know what I don’t miss Catwoman, waking up to a mouthful of blonde hair because as much as I like smelling peaches and mango scented shampoo, I do not like eating it. Well Miss Martin, it seems there is one thing I can do better than you,_ \- he assumed the pencils thrown at his head from both females were a justified punishment. - _I knew it was you that had my shirt! Give it back, that was a one out of fifty, limited edition t-shirt and I better find it in my mailbox today or else I’m turning your wolfy ass into a throw rug. I didn’t lose them in my room, I lost them when I was running for my life! Tell you father if he wants them, send Scott out into the woods like a good puppy and tell him to sniff them out._ \- This time it was an entire pencil case that had been lobbed at his head, Scott grinning unrepentantly at the board. - And _Oh Jackson, baby, you know you wanna get all up in this, don’t deny it._

He also drew a wolf baying and gave it to Boyd, smiling when he grinned in thanks and tucked it between one of his books.

After that, they got weird, cryptic. Like every time he tried to bring up anything related to the Pack, they tried to dance around the bush. Which, considering who they were talking to, was just like Scott trying to skate. A complete and utter failure. Stiles knew it wasn’t because they didn’t want to tell him what was going on, it was because they couldn’t. Like Derek had ordered them not to in his special Alpha voice and if that were the case, fuck him sideways with a nail spiked dildo.

He still might be bitter about that night in his room. Not that bitter to not fantasise what would have happened if he didn’t leave and they did get to come. Several times in several positions.

Uh, yeah. Back to the point.

Everything came crashing down though when the Pack came to school on Thursday looking completely knackered. Allison and Jackson walked with a slight limp, Isaac, Scott and Boyd favoured one side, Lydia wore glasses inside and outside of class, despite protests from teachers and Erica wore one of his hoodies all day, not even trying to take it off which she never done because “I have boobs, Stiles, I’m going to show them off.” So to say that Stiles was on high alert would have been an understatement. 

It wasn't until he was getting ready to have dinner with his father that night, that he heard it. Two long, eerie howls.

"That was weird," his father muttered with a frown completely, oblivious to his reaction. 

He had tensed, managing to drop the salad bowl as he spun around to face the woods at the back. Stiles knew those howls anywhere, could pinpoint them in a mix of real wolf vocals if need be. 

Lydia and Isaac.


	5. Chapter Five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they started out, barely new and established as a Pack, everyone, including Allison, took guesses on how exactly the Hale house burned down. They all knew Kate was to blame, they just couldn’t figure out how a family, a _Pack of werewolves_ , couldn’t hear someone coming from up the road, to be taken by surprise. He hadn’t said or asked anything when he figured it out how exactly Kate got her information on Derek and his family, he knew it wasn’t his place to say. Until now that is. Fuck his ability to shove his own foot in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm so sorry if this is just a bunch of rambles I excuse as writing. I tried cutting this down but every time I did, it seemed like a cliff hanger and I didn't want to do that, so ah. Enjoy five thousand words of complete word vomit. 
> 
> Also, **just a little warning** ; there is fighting scenes in this chapter, so there is violence.
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, everyone! And thank you for taking the time to read my story! :D

Surging forward, the Sheriff spluttering after him in surprise, Stiles ran up the stairs two at a time, mind racing a mile a minute to formulate a plan. 

Something had to be wrong. Everyone in the Pack knew not to fuck around with howling only if it was a dangerous situation and rightfully so. What with the rouge hunters still in neighbouring towns because of the chaotic aftermath that had been the Alpha Pack, it wasn't wise to give off their position. 

All but throwing his desk forward and ripping the floorboard up, Stiles grabbed for the spare blade, gun, wolfsbane bullets and Mountain Ash that resided there. So, maybe he didn't close the door on the supernatural world like he said, sue him. 

"What the fuck, Stiles?!" His dad exclaimed, wide eyed. "What's going on?!"

"I don't have time to explain, dad." He answered, getting to his feet. 

Setting the items on the desk, he placed the handle of the blade in one palm before covering it with the other and twisting it in two different directions. It had the desired affect he needed and now he held two identical blades, only thinner than what it created when slotted together, the weight a comfort to his racing heart. 

"The hell you can't," the Sheriff growled. "My son has a gun and knives in my house! I deserve some answers!"

"Yes, and your son is trying to save someone's life!" He snapped, whirling around to pin him with a glare. "I know I'm asking for a lot, but please trust me on this. _I don't have the time to explain._ "

He wasn't sure what was playing on his face but whatever it was, made his father pause. He looked old, Stiles decided running his gaze over him. To be honest, Stiles felt old too. 

"Remember when you asked me what was going on and I told you it wasn't my secret to share?"

His father nodded, "Yes, but you also told me they were safe."

"I did," Stiles admitted, nodding softly in return. "And they were, up until now. But something's happening and I need to help them. There are things I can do that they can't."

"It wasn't really mountain lions killing people, was it?" He asked, sitting shakily at the desk, gaze transfixed on the gun in his hand. "Everything goes back to Kate Argent, to the Hale fire?"

Stiles hesitated. "Dad, I -"

"Just give me that son," he interrupted palm raised and held out in front of him. "Please, just answer this one question, I deserve as much."

He was right, of course. He did deserve some truth after watching him lie to his face about his whereabouts, the bruises that lined his body. Biting on his lip he gave a single jerk of his chin. "Yes." 

His father blew out a breathe before straightening his shoulders. "What do you need?"

"I need the cruiser," he replied softly, turning for the straps that had been hidden in the floor as well. Out of all the days for something to happen, it had to happen when his Jeep was getting fixed and Stiles was in need of a getaway car. 

Winding the Velcro around both thighs before sliding bullets into the chambers and tucking it in the back of his jeans, he grabbed the Ash and held it in a steady hand, knives sheathed at each hip. 

"No, I'll drive you." 

Stiles' head snapped up, heart stuttering in his chest for another reason. "No, no. I can't have you there, it's too dangerous."

"I'm the Sheriff and if something is out there hurting people in my town, I want to know what it is." He spoke, voice brooking no arguments, his own hand palming at his service rifle that he luckily hadn't locked away yet. "Either I drive you, or you don't go."

"But you stay in the car." Stiles, compromised, running down the stairs again and through the front door, him at his heels. "Head for the forest."

He heard his father scoff, but didn't hear any complaints as they both slid into the police cruiser, car tires squealing as he threw it in reverse. 

"Come on, come on," Stiles muttered, knee bouncing up and down as his gaze took in the trees that rushed by, "You know I hate doing it, don't make me do it."

"Do what?" 

He sighed. He had to do it. "Something _really_ embarrassing."

He ignored his father' confused look, wound down the window, stuck his head out of it and with a deep breathe, let out a loud howl. 

"Oh my God." The Sheriff groaned, swerving slightly in surprise. "What is wrong with you?!"

Stiles waved a dismissive hand at him, willing him to be quiet so he could listen. He thought Derek was crazy when the Alpha explained he was going to teach Allison and him how to communicate through howling, but all Stiles wanted to do right now was kiss Derek blind for being smart. 

It was silent for a minute and he begun to think the worst until another set of howls answered; Boyd, Jackson and Erica. 

"Left, left! Go left!" Stiles ordered, almost making a grab for the wheel himself when the Sheriff didn't react fast enough. 

With the window down, he could hear the growls coming from further into the woods and his heart rate went up a notch. 

"Please stay in the car, dad. You don't know what we're up against and I need you to be safe. Whatever you hear, you ignore it. Please?" 

Only jumping out of the car when he nodded, he ordered his father to change his clip to a handful of wolfsbane bullets, and to shoot anything big and fast moving. To make sure nothing else could get to him, Stiles made a circle of Mountain Ash around the police cruiser, leaving a wide arc so whatever it was fighting the Pack couldn't knock the car out of its protected ring. 

With a final look, Stiles took off into the trees, following the tell tale signs of snarling, whimpers and the sounds of skin and bone being broken. God, he hoped he wasn't too late. 

He hit the clearing just in time to see Lydia, shifted in all her wolfed out glory, be tossed aside like a rag doll, another werewolf pouncing on top of her, jaws at the ready. 

Without even thinking, Stiles ran forward and with a manoeuvre that Derek taught him, grabbed the werewolf by his throat and flipped him off of Lydia, sending him a few meters back. He unsheathed his blade, serrated notches biting against the length of his forearm as he landed in a protective crouch over her, teeth bared.

He ignored the Pack's clamour as he glared at the man getting to his feet before him. He looked exactly like the Alpha from before. The one that had marked him before dying. 

"Pretty sure the last time I saw you, I tore your throat out." Stiles spoke. 

His eyes flickered red, a snarl tearing its way from deep within his chest. Another Alpha then. Which meant they didn't kill the Alpha Pack like they assumed. 

"That was my brother, Ethan. My name is Aiden. Guess you'll be the one to pay for my brother's death."

"Guess crazy is just in your genetics." He snarked back, brushing reassuring fingertips over Lydia's cheek when she whimpered, cheek rubbing against his wrist.

 

A loud roar echoed through the trees, sending a chill up his spine and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Derek was on his way and he was not happy. He tried not to grin at the twitch of Aiden's shoulders. 

"I suggest you leave," Stiles ordered, standing up when Boyd, Isaac and Jackson surrounded Lydia, low growls tumbling out of mouths full of sharp teeth. "It didn't end well for your brother and the other two Alphas. It'll be the same for you."

As Aiden paced in front of him, Stiles, while keeping the Alpha in his line of sight, did a quick survey of the Pack standing in a close semi circle behind him. 

Boyd stood to his left, weight favouring his right side, body poised and ready to attack. Isaac and Jackson were now helping Lydia up to her feet behind Boyd, a long gash running down from her collarbone and curling around her ribs, a red line staining the white tank top she wore. Scott and Erica were crouched on Stiles' other side, but from what he could see, they were both unharmed. He and the blonde werewolf were the best fighters besides Derek in the Pack, Stiles being the better fighter out of the humans. 

Allison stood behind Scott, eyes hard and calculating, bow string drawn back tightly and an arrow held in a steady grip. They were all bloody, golden eyed and growling. Good, it meant they were alive. 

"I'll only leave when your heart stops beating." Aiden snapped, only just being held back by another female Alpha. 

Ugh, cliché much?

"And what is a human's place in the Hale Pack?" The female by his side laughed, a maniacal trill that sent his skin crawling. It was official, someone creeped him out more than Peter did. "Does Derek take you as his bitch?"

Again, with the clichés. Did they get their monologue from every villain in every werewolf themed movie and book? 

"My position in the Pack is none of your concern," he replied, body tense and gaze narrowed. Call him a bitch, _he was the human one_ , for fucks sake. "The concern that matters is what your business here in Beacon Hills is."

Stiles hated being formal when all he wanted to do was bury his blade between Aiden's eyes for putting his claws on Lydia. Derek had explained that before any fight that took place between two Packs, there was always a sit down in the hopes of dealing with the situation verbally and without casualties, most alliances created that way. 

There hadn't been one the first time because the Alpha Pack had attacked first with Boyd and Erica. They had no choice but to retaliate or risk losing someone for good, so all protocols went out the proverbial window.

"Looks like Hale taught his pet well, Kali." Aiden mocked, smirking with a mouthful of fangs. "Maybe I should see what else you can do with that mouth."

Scott and Erica growled. 

" Ah, little blondie," the woman, Kali, cooed as she ran her eyes over them and stopping on her. "You look so much better than you did with blood dripping from those nasty wounds I gave you. I can still hear the way you screamed and begged for me to stop.” Her grin was feral.

This time it was Boyd who growled with a snap of his jaws, body dropping down low into a crouch. 

Stiles silenced him with a look.

"State your business." He snapped, adrenaline roaring in his ears. Or was that Derek? He couldn't tell. All he knew was, he had to keep their attention focused wholly on him. "You have ten seconds before our Alpha turns up and trust me when I say this, you'd want to talk to me because right now, he's not in a talkative mood."

To prove his point, a massive black blur tore through the tree line from behind the Alpha Pack, heading for the closest person. Stiles didn't even bat an eyelash when the sounds of bone being crushed echoed in the clearing, the wolf pulling back with blood marring his maw. Fully shifted, Derek's muzzle came up to his ribs, his size that of a half grown horse. Black as night, the only colour you could see were his eyes and one white furred ear. He was beautiful in his wolf form, majestic. 

Aiden, Kali and nine other Alphas scattered with a snarl, crimson eyes glinting in the near dark, a crescent moon the only thing helping his vision. After receiving a nod from him, Scott and Boyd herded the wolf towards them, barely managing to keep Derek from tearing into someone else.

 

The Alphas reformed their line, bodies vibrating with snarls as they glared at their fallen Pack mate. The wolves behind him growled back, the rumble shaking the ground under Stiles' sneakers and up his spine. He wasn’t sure why they didn’t attack, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Derek circled Stiles once and he couldn't help himself, he tangled his fingers in the soft fur of his nape, equal parts to keep him at his side and to assure himself that everything was going to be fine, that _they_ were going to be fine. 

"Let that be a warning to you," Stiles advised when he was nudged with a cool press of a nose, "Because I won't repeat myself again. State. Your. Business."

"We at first wanted Derek in our Pack," one of the men that had kept quiet, spoke stepping forward, eyes unnaturally red. "Having a born werewolf in our rank would have been empowering for bitten werewolves such as ourselves, especially if he were an Alpha too."

"Deucalion!" Aiden snapped. Like they were ashamed of being bitten instead of born. 

And what type of name is Deucalion? Who names their kid that? Obviously someone who wanted a psycho with a complex a mile long for a son. 

He bared human teeth at Aiden, making Stiles quirk an eyebrow when the other male Alpha averted his eyes and tilted his head slightly to the side. Guess that answers the question on how can a bunch of Alphas be a pack. There was the dominant one and the submissive ones. 

"But that all changed when you killed my partner, Ethan." He continued facing forward, body shivering when a fine layer of fur rippled over his naked chest. "Now all I want is retribution." 

Stiles wanted to laugh. _He wanted retribution_? That was rich. "You're the one that started this, Deucalion. You kidnap two of my wolves and send them back bloody and broken. If anyone should want revenge, it's us."

Jackson, Lydia and Isaac snapped their jaws in agreement. 

"Oh, your wolves?" He echoed, rising a disbelieving eyebrow, nostrils flaring with a deep inhale. "You don't carry much of the Hale Pack scent." 

Fuck. 

Derek tensed beneath his palm. Why, he wasn't so sure. He was the one that wanted him out in the first place. Stiles couldn't really tell you why he was here. Logically speaking, he had no ties to anyone here, there was no reason for him to stand between growling werewolves. 

But mentally he knew why he was here, why he was ready to fight a battle that technically wasn't his own. It was the familiar burn of numbing fear pressing against his ribs, the terrified notion that the people at his back won't make it through the night, that they'd die and he wasn't there to stop it from happening. 

"He's been busy," Allison spoke from behind him, and Stiles tried not to startle. He'd forgotten she was there. "Training with some relatives of mine outside of town."

He breathed in evenly, thankful that his heart rate didn't rise or skip at the lie. She must have been repeating it to herself to make it true because none of the Alphas picked up on the false statement.

"That's another thing we must speak of," Kali grinned. She pinned Derek with a gleeful look. "Letting a hunter into your Pack? One related to crazy pants, Kate Argent, the very one that _burnt_ your family alive? You must be one, sick puppy."

Stiles tightened his grip around the fur in his hand when Derek snarled, all the wolves echoing the thundering noise. 

The sound of an arrow being released sliced through the air before Stiles saw said arrow bury itself between Kali's feet. Another arrow was heard being drawn back. 

"Mention my aunt and disrespect my Alpha again, the next one goes between the eyes." 

It sounded so natural of Allison to say that, to dare someone to mock Kate and Derek in front of her. She once confided in Stiles that she wasn't proud of what her aunt did to the Hales and no matter how much she wanted to, Allison couldn't change the past. 

So instead, she asked Derek to help change the future with her in the Pack. It had taken time, lots of time, but they were now comfortable around one another, ready to defend if one was injured without the need to worry about their back being stabbed. 

Kali didn't even bother to reply. With a growl, she launched herself towards Allison, only to be intercepted by a snarling Erica, claws burying their way into her side as they went down in a ball of curls and sharp teeth. Deucalion went to lunge at Stiles but Derek blocked the attack before he could reach him, the other Alpha changing into a large grey wolf, brown patches around the muzzle and paws. 

Boyd and Lydia jumped into the fray, tackling an Alpha each, mouths closing around their throats with a guttural rumble, eyes flashing brightly. Scott and Allison worked as a team, his best friend grabbing a wolfed out female and flinging her to the right, the huntress aiming a wolfsbane tipped arrow to the heart. 

Jackson and Isaac stood back to back, making swipes and growls at the four Alphas that loosely surrounded them. Stiles took it down to three when he came up behind a bald headed man and plunged his blade in at the base of his skull before twisting the hilt, watching as he crumpled to the floor in a motionless heap. 

Before he could turn to the female on his right though, he was grabbed by the scruff of his hoodie and yanked back, the collar of it cutting off his air supply seconds before he hit the forest floor with a thud. 

He wheezed in a breathe just as Aiden pounced. Despite the tears blurring his eyes, Stiles grabbed for the gun tucked in his waistband, clicked the safety off, took aim and fired twice, both shots to the head. 

A loud cry pierced the night sky and he rolled to his feet to see Kali grinning down at Erica, her leg bent at an unnatural angle. She was dragging herself backwards while the Alpha followed, toying with her. 

"Guess your boyfriend's too busy to save you now, blondie." She laughed, pinning Erica down to the ground with a boot. 

Kali raised a clawed hand and was about to slash her jugular when Stiles jumped onto the Alpha's back, using weight and surprise to send them careening forward. He had tried to make a move for her throat, fisting her hair and yanking her head back, but ended up getting clawed in the middle of his back in retaliation. With a hiss, he brought his hand down before positioning the blade's tip above her heart and thrusting down. She went limp in his arms. 

He scrambled towards Erica, bloody hands hovering over her leg where it was twisted at the knee. "You know what I have to do, Catwoman."

With a few deep, laboured breathes, she nodded her consent, only crying out again when he realigned her leg correctly, claws digging into his forearm. He pressed a kiss to a dirty cheek when she leant forward and nosed his neck. 

"Stiles!" Scott yelled from across the clearing where he was covering an unconscious Allison with his body, "Derek! Help Derek!"

"Go, Batman." Erica ordered pushing him away, eyes a feral gold as she held his gun up for him to see. "I'll be fine."

Flipping Kali onto her back, he yanked the blade from her chest before running to where two wolves were fighting, Derek being pinned by Deucalion. He was a bloody mess, bite marks and slashes decorating his body, though the grey wolf wasn't in any better condition. 

Stiles couldn't actively jump in between them, not with the chance of being hurt unintentionally by Derek, so he did the next best thing. Grabbing a handful of Mountain Ash, he started to make a circle, sloppy as it may be, around the snarling wolves. 

Jackson and Boyd immediately flanked him, taking out any of the Alphas that tried to cut him down, Isaac and Lydia following closely behind, blood smeared over their mouths and claws.

"Derek!" Stiles called, when he saw that he was almost finished in completing the circle, "Need to be quick!"

With an answering growl, Derek dodged snapping jaws, bringing his own around the nape of Deucalion's neck and tossing him to the side. In three long strides, the black wolf was behind him. Before he could close the barrier though, Deucalion was leaping towards him. 

A shot was fired as he was jerked back, Derek's rumbling body covering his protectively. Over the loud thrumming of his pulse and the flashes of his life before his eyes, Stiles could vaguely hear the Pack yelling his name.  
He glanced out passed a large hind leg, confused to see that Erica was still too far to make a kill shot, no matter if she was taught how to shoot a gun. 

The only other person to have gun was - oh, no. Nudging the wolf off of him, he rolled to his feet and stared, mouth agape at his father holding his gun. 

"I thought I told you to stay in the car!" He cried out, gaze running over the length of him to make sure he was alright. He was. "You're so lucky this is the end of the fight."

Lydia snorted, looking very pleased with herself, like the cat that got the canary. Wait, that wasn't very accurate. Like the dog that got the bone. 

Stiles winced. He needed to stop with the dog jokes or he was seriously going to hurt himself. 

"Good way of sounding like a mother, Stiles." She laughed, biting her lip in reprimand when he sent her a glare. 

His father raised an eyebrow before holstering his firearm. He took a dramatic look around at the dead bodies surrounding then, eyes taking in how bloody and filthy they were. " _You're_ lucky I don't ground you until your sixty."

He didn't sheepishly scuff his sneaker in the dirt, he didn't. 

"Sheriff," a gruff voice greeted from behind him. 

"Oh my God," Stiles groaned, whirling around to face Derek. A _naked_ Derek. "What is the matter with you?! Don't just shift in front of my dad!"

He scowled, not at all bothered with rocking the birthday suit. Though to be fair, so was everyone else, himself included. He just didn't want his father to see parts of Derek one couldn't forget, no matter how, ah, well endowed he was. 

“I'm in pain, Stiles and I'd like to get to Deaton sooner than later. I‘ll fit better in a car this way than the wolf will."

"What about the bodies?" Isaac asked, jumping up and down on his toes, trying to rid of the excess adrenaline. Stiles felt inclined to do the same if it weren't for the three degree burns he was receiving from his father. 

"Burn then bury them," he answered, tossing a lighter, he always kept in his pocket, at the curly haired werewolf. "Where we did for the others."

"Boyd and Jackson will help," Lydia sighed, stretching before grabbing the nearest body and slipping them onto her shoulders with ease. “We’ll meet you back at Deaton’s.”

Stiles might not want her anymore, but fuck, that was probably the hottest thing he's every seen her do, blood and dirt painting her face and arms, hair tousled around her cheeks. She looked like a wild, barbarian queen. 

God, he was a psychologist's wet dream. 

"You need to go the hospital."

Snapping his attention to his father, he shook his head when he realised he was talking about his back. "Nah, Doctor Deaton can handle this. These are just scratches compared to before."

He frowned, turning Stiles around and softly probing the slashes between his shoulder blades through the ripped material of his hoodie and shirt. “Son, I - I don’t know what’s happening right now, what with the wolf I just shot and Derek _transforming_ from one, but please tell me this isn’t what you‘ve been up to.”

He faced him, smiling softly, if a bit guiltily. “Surprise?” 

“We are so talking about this later and you’re grounded from here on out.“ He sighed, rubbing at his face with a shaky hand. “Are you sure you don’t need to get to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?” The Sheriff asked, glancing warily at Derek, who thankfully was wearing a pair of boxers. Erica winked at him when he glared over at her. They were _his_ boxers.

Again he shook his head, no.

“Why not? He’s more of an open wound than anything else!”

“Werewolves have fast healing abilities except when fighting an Alpha.” Scott answered, holding Allison piggyback style, her legs wrapped around his waist, one arm looped loosely over his shoulder and the other holding her crossbow by his hip. She smiled sleepily at him, cheek nuzzling softly against the nape of Scott’s neck, a line of crimson slowly running down her jaw. 

“The healing process slows because the wound is supposed to be a lesson. We go to Deaton to get patched up until our body kicks in and starts the recovery.” Erica continued, limping slightly beside Derek.

“Werewolves?” His father visibly paled, eyes darting around at Erica, Scott and Derek. “And they were werewolves too? What did they want?”

“Wanted their bone back.” Stiles laughed, smile turning into a grimace when he was given the _Don’t-fuck-with-me-now_ glare. “Too soon?”

***

“Stop fidgeting,” Deaton sighed, a firm pressure pressing down on his lower back.

“I’m sorry, it’s not like I’ve got a needle sliding in and out of my flesh, nope, no siree.” Stiles replied, wincing when said needle pierced his skin. It didn’t matter that he was given an anaesthetic, he could still feel whenever the vet pulled his skin closed.

“Stop being a baby,” Erica laughed, soothing her words away by burying her face in his neck, hot breathe fanning down over his collarbone.

She and Scott hadn’t left his personal bubble ever since sliding into the back seat of the cruiser. Not that he was complaining. No one mentioned the loud sigh he let out when both werewolves piled on him heavily, limbs tucked under and around him, cocooning him in their heat, the feeling of Pack, of being safe blanketing over him.

“There you go,” Deaton spoke, nudging him after helping him into his shirt. “It’s good to see you’ve passed the test, Stiles. I was beginning to worry.”

He stilled, turning around from batting Isaac away from nuzzling into his chest. “Excuse me?”

For once, Deaton looked clearly hesitant to answer, shoulders twitching. Stiles wasn’t sure what was in his voice or on his face to get that reaction, but clearly whatever the vet was going to say, wasn’t going to make him happy.

“What test?” Boyd and Jackson asked at the same time, leaning against each other, Lydia perched on Jackson’s lap with a frown marring her features.

Deaton shot a brisk look at Derek. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Was kinda trying not to die getting here.” He snapped, scowling. “I didn’t have time to mention anything.”

“Mention what?” He growled, facing Derek with a glare. “And if you lie to me, I’m shoving wolfsbane down your throat.”

“Stiles!” His father exclaimed, pulling on his wrist when the Alpha in front of him, flashed his eyes in warning, upper lip pulled back in a snarl.

The Sheriff had been quiet on his way to the Clinic, whether he was trying to process everything or trying to ignore the half naked man, bleeding on his seat beside him, Stiles couldn’t really tell. He had frowned when a low rumble, almost a purr, had erupted from Lydia’s chest when he pressed a kiss to her forehead in reply to her whispered ‘ _Thanks Stiles for coming to my rescue_.’ But besides that, he hadn’t really shown any inkling that he was going to send him off to some mental institution, so Stiles figured he was safe with his father knowing. Well, so he hoped.

He yanked his arm out of the iron clad grip and took a threatening step forward. “What test, Derek?”

“I needed to make sure you weren’t going to leave the Pack when you got sick of us, when you couldn’t take it.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes further, mind whirling at the familiar words. His jaw ticked when the Alpha, Ethan, had flashed before his mind’s eye, laughing about how idiotic it was to have a human in a Pack, how they always left.

"So you’re telling me, that this was all because of what that bastard said about humans that weren't blood related, or partners eventually took off from their Packs because _they couldn't take it_?"

Derek hesitated, "He may have pushed the ball into motion."

He didn't know whether to feel insulted or angry. Thinking over everything that's happened, he went with the latter. 

“Stiles,” Boyd whispered, coming up and tugging his arm towards him. “Come on, let’s just all go home and recover. We’ll talk about this in the morning when everyone’s calmed down.”

Ever the voice of reason. Too bad he had no intentions of listening or being calm.

“No! We’re gonna talk about this now!” He snarled, jerking away from him before jabbing a finger in Derek’s direction. “Do you know the pain you put me through? The pain you put us through? How fucking hard it was to walk passed any of the Pack in school and not speak to them? To hear them at my _bedroom window_ and knocking?” 

Derek stayed stubbornly quiet.

"I bled for the Pack!" Stiles growled, pulling his shirt up to put the freshly healed slash on his left side on display. 

The scar began a few inches below his armpit before curling into the groove of his left hip. One could easily tell that whatever sliced through his skin was something sharp, something deadly.

"I bled for _you_! And you expected me to just _walk away_? This should be proof enough I'm not going anywhere!"

“It wasn’t just you and the Pack that felt your departure, Stiles.” Derek muttered, standing up slowly, wince furrowing his eyebrows. “But it was for the good of the Pack.”

“It’s unnecessary is what it was!” He shouted, just registering the whines picking up in volume around him. Jackson held his father back with a firm hand pressed against his chest, his whole body planted in front of him, to keep the Sheriff away from where Stiles stood nearly nose to nose with Derek. “How can you think I’d do that?!”

"It's true, Stiles and you know it!" Derek snapped, fists balled up by his sides, a low rumble underlying his words. "All it takes is one push, one serious push and you'd break."

"If I didn't break when I literally had jaws wrapped around my throat, what the fuck makes you think I'd break from something else?" He retorted, raising an eyebrow and ignoring the choked gasp his father let out. “Why didn't you just ask me? I would have told you I'm not going anywhere!"

“You know how to omit the truth!” The Alpha argued, jaw clenched as Scott stood in front of him with a growl. “You know how to lie without lying!”

“I’m not fucking Kate, Derek!” He spat out, “I’m not going to lie and tell you I love you and then burn everything you hold dear!”

Silence had never sounded so loud to Stiles in his life.

He blinked, slightly unnerved at how still everyone was around him, mouths gaping and eyes wide.

When they started out, barely new and established as a Pack, everyone, including Allison, took guesses on how exactly the Hale house burned down. They all knew Kate was to blame, they just couldn’t figure out how a family, a _Pack of werewolves_ , couldn’t hear someone coming from up the road, to be taken by surprise. He hadn’t said or asked anything when he figured it out how exactly Kate got her information on Derek and his family, he knew it wasn’t his place to say. Until now that is. Fuck his ability to shove his own foot in his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered. Swallowing harshly, he stumbled back, grabbing his father’s wrist and literally dragging him out of the Clinic, ignoring the voices calling out for him.

“Son, are you alright?” The Sheriff questioned, placing a steady hand on his shoulder, helping him get into the car.

“Just, just take me home.“ He whispered again, curling in on himself, arms wrapping around his midsection. He felt sick. “Just take me home."


	6. Chapter Six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do I do to make everything right?" He whispered, hunching in over himself. 
> 
> Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, dude. I really don't know. But fix it before you lose us, if you haven't already."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, God. I'm so sorry for this being late. I had some difficulty with this chapter because I actually didn't expect this to go past chapter 5, but then feels and the need to be thorough happened. Every writer's nightmare, well mine, anyway. I'm really sorry lovelies!  
> Thank you everyone for commenting and taking the time to read my story! :D  
> Enjoy.

Laying stomach down on his bed, Stiles tried to figure out why his chest felt so hollow and his back stung. The obvious reason beside having his back sliced open like a hot knife through butter, Stiles couldn't feel that much but the massive blade sticking between in shoulders. 

Oh betrayal, you heartless bitch.

And just who the fuck did Derek think he was anyway? Not only keeping this plan to himself but going through with said plan? 

After the initial shock that had settled in after hightailing it back home and ignoring his father's questions, Stiles was angry. He was _foaming at the mouth_ , livid. He had thought he was angry at the Clinic, but when he had taken a shower, - wilfully ignoring the pink water at his feet - he mentally took a step back from the calm place in his mind he went to, when fighting with the supernatural. 

A test? A. _Test_. To see if his loyalty would change, if he was in it for the long haul. 

Stiles shook his head, a frown pulling at his lips. Even if the worst situation - and that was his father dying at the hands of something supernatural - were to happen, he wouldn't turn his back on them. He was man enough to admit he'd love to do that. That he would gladly walk away from the Pack, from Beacon Hills forever but, as much as his father means everything to him, he wouldn't, couldn't. 

The way he saw it was, that would be his incentive to continue being apart of the Pack, to keep fighting werewolves, witches or anything that thought preying on the weak, on the _human_ , was okay. If he walked away, then what? His father's death would mean nothing, would only keep him up at night and prove to him that he couldn't help.

The people around him had lost so much already and besides their wolves and the circumstances, that's what bound them together. He couldn't take a family losing a child or parent, hell even a distant cousin. Not when he could stop it. Stiles would do everything in his power to ensure someone else wouldn't know the pain of losing a loved one to something that should be in a fairy tale.

So to have Derek question him when he literally took the slash that was meant for his throat, it hurt. It hurt so much. 

Especially after they had gotten closer. It was awkward as all hell when they were still trying to figure out how to go about this whole Pack thing, like a new foal stumbling on shaky legs. But they made it work, he and Derek, them and the Pack took the steps together. If one were to fall behind, everyone was there to push them forward, to fight for them. 

Then, one day when battling it out against some batshit crazy witch, it hit Stiles as Jackson tackled him to the ground and taking the broken branch sent his way in the shoulder, the sharp tip embedded in muscle and skin. They were a Pack, ready to die for one another if the situation arose. 

Everyone, including he and Allison, moved as one, as a whole entity. Like there was a thread that connected them and when pulled, they moved in that direction effortlessly, without resistance. 

Friday nights became a weekly excuse to run around the Preserve where they played tag and poked fun at one another, mostly the wolves saying it was impossible for the humans to play against them, the losers left to buy dinner. They would always pout when they handed over the money when Stiles and Allison found new and inventive ways to win. 

Then Saturday was just an excuse to lounge around Derek's home, _their_ home, and watch movies while in a massive ball of limbs on the mattress, that was brought out from being tucked behind the couches that lined the wall in the den. Derek would always complain about having to put on the subtitles for the films, because of all the happy rumbles echoing from the wolves' chests, but Stiles knew that it was always him that was the loudest, no matter where he was in the pile. 

So, why would Derek give all that up? Why would he want to destroy what happiness he managed to salvage from what Kate had destroyed?

Stiles winced. _Kate_. No matter how pissed off and hurt he was, he shouldn't have thrown that in Derek's face, shouldn't have rubbed salt in the wound . It didn't matter that it was in the heat of the moment. Stiles wouldn't want Scott to turn around in an argument and slap him in the face with a "you're the reason why I'm a werewolf, _you were the one_ that wanted to find a cut in half, dead body."

So why did he say it? He had no fucking clue whether or not he wanted to hurt Derek like he was hurting or because maybe it was in the heat of the moment, either way, it still didn't make him feel any better. 

God, when did his life become such a whirlwind of emotions and tragedy and destruction?

Stiles was just getting ready for bed when he heard the tell tale signs of someone climbing up the side of the house, their footfalls running near silent. He already knew who it was just from that sound alone and he groaned inwardly. Tonight was _so not_ the night for a fucking confrontation. All he wanted to do was bury his way into his blankets and pray for a merciful death. Dramatic completely, but he was in no mood to give a fuck. 

Stiles sighed and rolled off his bed. Might as well get it over with in the relative privacy of his bedroom, rather than getting mauled at the grocery store. Not that he had left the house or anything, but that was beside the point. No one wanted to get mauled by an animal, let alone see it happening. 

Breaking the barrier on his window, he held the blade in his hand, tip scraping against his forearm in long, slow swipes and his stance wide. Two seconds later, the window was pushed up and a black clothed figure slid in and immediately went down into a crouch. 

He stared at Derek's face as the Alpha's gaze was transfixed on the knife in his grip, expression pinched into something he couldn't really describe. 

"I'm not going to kill you, Stiles." Derek muttered, standing up and leaning against the wall next to the window, looking completely at ease to anyone that didn't know any better. Luckily for him, he wasn’t just anyone and he did know better. 

They both ignored the snort he let out.

"Why is it, whenever you're pissed off at me, you hide like I'm the plague. But when it's me that's pissed off, you forget all about proper protocols of dealing with pissed off people and badger me into talking?"

They also ignored how Stiles just described himself. 

"I'm sorry." Derek replied, right shoulder twitching uncomfortably. "I shouldn't have done that."

That's not where he thought this was going to go. He expected snarls and being thrown into walls. He expected blood. But not an apology. So why was Stiles so angry at hearing him say 'I'm sorry'? Maybe spending hours going over everything wasn't such a good thing, no matter what anyone says. 

"You fucked every one of us over and you think an apology is going to make it all better?"

"You make it sound like no one ever did that to me."

"Are you fucking serious? Firstly, I did everything you asked me, everything! Regardless of it being before when this bullshit started and when I bitched and moaned, I. Still. Did it." Stiles argued, arms flying about before him, the blade he had held in his grip now placed on the desk beside his hip. In easy reach. He knew that the Alpha wouldn't hurt him, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. "And secondly, this your way of paying the people who did fuck you over, back?!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Derek spoke, jaw clenched. “I’m just pointing out that it’s clearly alright for everyone to jerk me around for their own selfish needs, but the one time I try and look out for the Pack, I’m somehow the bad guy.”

“It doesn’t matter who did what to who,” he replied slowly, willing his words to get through the Alpha’s thick skull. “What matters is after all we’ve gone through, you’re still waiting for someone to turn around and stab you in the back.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Was the muttered reply.

Oh, for the love of all that’s holy.

“Stop with the fucking woe-is-me, feel sorry because everyone hates me, bullshit!” Stiles exclaimed, fed up. “What happened in the past is where it belongs, in the past!”

He knew that Derek had issues, hell, his issues had issues who also had issues. But come on, grow up already and fucking move on.

“History repeats itself, Stiles!” Derek growled, “It always does!”

“Not unless someone’s willing to change it,” he retorted, tilting his chin up and locking the Alpha’s gaze with his. “And you clearly have to be that someone, but it’s not going to happen if you continue to question everyone’s motives, my motives.”

“You’re human, you don’t understand.”

“No, no. We’re not doing this dancing in circles shit again, because I’m pretty sure I’ve heard the 'you’re human’ fuckery before, so you listen here, Derek Hale. I’m apart of this Pack and there is nothing you can do or say, that will tell me or the rest of us otherwise. I let you push me away once, I'm not going to let you do it again."

Stiles held up a hand to stop the Alpha from protesting, eyes narrowed in a 'I'm talking, you're not' glare. 

"I’m not tied to it by normal circumstances like having a werewolf as my partner, being a relative or because I‘m a wolf and need strength in numbers, yeah I‘ll agree to that. But I’m here because _I want to be_ , after everything I’ve done to protect the Pack and Beacon Hills, why can’t you see that?”

He was met with silence and a stubborn tick to a stubbled jaw, eyes looking anywhere but at him. 

"Look, I get it. You've been burned." Stiles spoke, cringing at his word use before steamrolling ahead for both their sakes. "But what you did, not to just me, but to the entire Pack That's pretty huge, man. We can't be a Pack if you're constantly looking over your shoulder and expecting the other shoe to drop because you can't trust us."

"I do trust you," Derek replied, pinning him with clear, unguarded eyes. "I do trust the Pack." 

Stiles had to smile because right there, the man standing before him, was the Derek he knew. The one that may or may not make Stiles feel all ridiculously cliché and shit. 

God, he was a Hallmark mess. 

"You trust us to an extent. Trust us to come when you call, to fight for you. To save your life, but trusting us to the key and security codes to all those walls you have up?" He spoke gently, the smile on his face turning bitter. "Yeah, you're not there yet and I understand that. Doesn't mean it didn't fucking hurt to have my loyalty questioned."

"Yeah," the Alpha said letting out a hollow laugh, "The Pack aren't very happy with me either. Everyone had to hold Erica back and I had to put Scott in a headlock again."

They both grinned at each other, thinking about the time where Scott, bless his little heart, unknowingly accepted a cookie from a fae that turned him into a, well, horny puppy. And guess who he happened to see first after eating said cookie? Yep, Stiles. 

If it weren't for Derek using the sleeper hold on him, Stiles was afraid it would have escalated passed having Scott grind down on him like it was his Goddamn purpose in life. 

And if Stiles happened to eat chocolate chip cookies for weeks straight at Pack meetings after the incident, while ignoring his best friend's petulant whines, well that was no one's business but his own. He figured he deserved this small happiness after hearing Scott groan like he was in some hardcore porno. And it's fucking _hilarious_ that Scott still cringes whenever he sees a cookie. 

Derek cleared his throat when their grins slipped off their faces. "What do I do to make everything right?" He whispered, hunching in over himself. 

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, dude. I really don't know. But fix it before you lose us, if you haven't already."

***

Tiptoeing passed the barely closed office door, Stiles' grin was victorious when he reached the bottom of the staircase, foot raised in the air to take the first step and fist pumping above his head. He could so be an international spy with this shit. 

And wouldn't that be fucking awesome? Him, a spy? Stealing top secret information, crawling up the sides of buildings and taking out mobsters and other worldly baddies. Stiles couldn't help but hum the theme song to _Mission Impossible_. 

"When you're done playing Tom Cruise, come in here and sit down." His father's voice sounded from behind him, amusement lacing his words. 

Fuck. 

He froze with a wince, glancing up at his room and calculating in his head if his father could catch him. 

He could make it. He totally could. 

"And don't even think of making a run for it," he spoke, casually as you please. "I took the locks off your door, so there's no way you're gonna pull another Stilinski move and pretend this isn't happening. I've already given you a wide berth of ignoring the problem, but this one isn't going to disappear while you blare music in your room and avoid the world."

Goddamn it. 

Hanging his head, Stiles turned and walked passed his father into the office, settling into the chair placed before the desk. He tried not to fidget, feeling very much like he was under a microscope and being prodded at. God, his father was going to go all Sheriff on his ass. 

"What seems to be the problem, officer?" He asked, laughing nervously. 

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer." And true to his words, that was the Sheriff Scowl. Very different from his Father Scowl, but still as useful in making Stiles squirm. "But I want you to tell me everything, right now. You said before you didn't have the time to explain, well now you do since you'll be home for the next few days after your little stunt."

He couldn't really argue with that. Stiles figured that having his father in the know wasn't that bad given the perks of staying home instead of going to school and pretending he wasn't being held together by a thread. Both literally and metaphorically. 

He did pause though because even if he wasn't the one that let the cat - wolf - out of the bag, it still technically wasn't his story to tell. 

"I guess I can give you the run down," he murmured after awhile, rubbing at his nose thoughtfully. 

After watching your son nearly getting mauled by one wolf only to be protected by another, might give a man some serious complex issues about them. 

"Oh, you guess?" The Sheriff asked, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms across his chest. Yeah, this was a full blown interrogation now. "I didn't know you had any choice in the matter, after spending four days hiding from me in my own damn house."

Stiles swallowed. So, maybe thinking that he could be an international spy was far fetched.

It wasn't really his fault, if you wanted to get technical, he gathered maybe it _was_ , but that was beside the point. The point was that after keeping his father in the dark for nearly one, going on to two years, only to suddenly change that in the blink of an eye was a little daunting and a whole heap of fucking scary. 

Stiles didn't know what to do with himself or that information. There was no way he could pretend everything was fine because it wasn't. He couldn't go back to the way his life was because it was so far from what his life was now, it just seemed idiotic to try and push a circle into a square shaped hole. To try and mould himself back into that loud mouthed, oblivious and normal Stiles he was. Well, as _normal_ as he could be. 

"Look, I know this is hard on you, Kiddo. I can see that. _I have seen that_." The Sheriff murmured, leaning forward and smiling gently. "But if I'm going to help with whatever's eating at you now, I need to see the bigger picture and I can't do that, if I'm supposed to look through a pair of special glasses."

He grinned weakly. Only a Stilinski could paint such a descriptive metaphor like that. His mother hated it sometimes when Stiles and the Sheriff would get carried away in whatever game they'd come up with, after he came home from work. A familiar ache bloomed in his chest but he pushed passed it. 

Getting comfortable, Stiles took in a deep breathe and began telling his father everything. From Scott finding Laura Hale's body to figuring out who the Alpha was. To the Kanima and Gerard Argent, then when defeating him, the faeries and witches, all the while dodging the Alpha Pack like it was some military training exercise and then winning against them, not once but twice. 

Stiles told him every detail, every life threatening experience and as each word passed his lips, heavy weights began to shift and fall from his shoulders, making it easier to breathe, to stand. To basically live. 

They lapsed into silence, his father looking a bit taken back at finding out his only son, turned into some supernatural fighting solider or something that battled creatures of the night and, Stiles trying to figure out how to apologise for his lying. 

"Crap, Stiles." The Sheriff muttered, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I can understand why you locked yourself up in your room."

"I just wanted to pretend I didn't know anything about what I know for awhile. It's just, it's been a rough week, arguably a rough couple of years." 

"You could say that again," he replied, warily, rubbing a calloused hand against his chin. "Your friends haven't left me alone at all these past few days. They're starting to annoy the deputies with how much they're around."

His head snapped up. "What?"

Eyebrows furrowed, his father nodded. "Scott, Lydia, Isaac and the blonde, Erica? Yeah, Erica. Won't leave me alone, always crowding in and sniffing me. And on Tuesday, which after this we will never speak of again, _licking me_."

Stiles snorted, lip caught between his teeth to stop from grinning widely and laughing. Fifty bucks says it was Isaac. 

"You smell like me," he explained, when getting an annoyed look at his barely concealed laughter. "They're missing me, their wolves amplifying that emotion by ten and because of being under an order to stay away from me. They're doing the next best thing that isn't stealing my clothes."

"Which happens to be treating me like a personal licking post," he gathered, dryly. 

Stiles tapped his nose. God, he loved them. 

"Two questions," The Sheriff said, holding two fingers up as he walked out of his office and into the kitchen. "What do you mean by under order? I thought you weren't in a cult."

Stiles shook his head, standing up and following after him, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline when he saw it was nearly seven in the evening. His father had cornered him at two. Had it really been five hours?

"Not a cult, a _Pack_. Derek's the Alpha, Scott's his Second and the rest of us are, well I was a Beta." He explained, helping his father preparing dinner. It felt like old times - if you know, ignore the werewolf talk - where he'd chatter about his day or anything that came to mind while his father added in comments and appropriate noises when prompted. "We usually talk about what we should do in a situation but Derek's word is final."

"That's why you kept mentioning Pack like it was something of importance." He mused, bobbing his head up and down in understanding. "So Alpha, Beta and all that jazz are based off real wolves?"

If he ever doubted for one second, that he was somehow not related to the man before him, that question right there would have put his mind at ease. Their need for knowing everything about anything was a blessing as it was a curse. 

Stiles nodded, jumping up onto the counter near the sink, with a cup of water in one hand and two painkillers in the other. 

Even though it had only been four days since Kali had used him as a scratching post, the wounds still throbbed whenever he stretched the skin between his shoulder blades too much, or whenever his back was cold. Today was the day where it just ached like freaking Hell. 

Popping the pills into his mouth and drinking from the glass, he continued, "Most interactions are based off real wolves; territories, depending if they can talk it out, disputes. Day to day behaviour between Pack mates and the hierarchy. Scent marking."

"Scent marking? You mean like -"

Stiles nearly choked on the water he had taken a gulp of, when his father raised his leg slightly, like a dog would when going for a fire hydrant.

Slapping on his chest, he coughed and spluttered all the while glaring at his father for laughing. "No, no. They don't piss on each other! That's just highly unhygienic and if Lydia was here, she'd growl at you for implying she‘d allow anyone to do that."

The Sheriff shrugged unrepentantly as he slid the frozen pizza into the oven. "How do they scent mark then?"

"Orgies."

It was his turn to be glared at for laughing. Come on, though. He was given the perfect shot and because he’s who he is, he took it. "I'd rather you being pissed on."

"I'm kidding, relax." Stiles grinned, hands held up placatingly. "We share clothes or we hug it out."

His father made a face. "So you're telling me that you spent your lunch breaks hugging each other?"

Even a hearing impaired person could hear the disbelief in his voice. 

Stiles rubbed at his elbow, before picking up the painkiller bottle and shaking it slightly. This was getting uncomfortable fast. "I might have gone to sleep alone and woke up with some of them in my bed once or twice."

He winced when he was met with silence. 

"Stiles!" The Sheriff finally scowled, whirling around from facing the stove and fixing him with a look he hadn't seen since he was thirteen, when he and Scott accidentally drove the police cruiser into Mrs Richardson's garage. He still claims it wasn't his idea, no matter what anyone says. 

"You have friends sneaking in your room and sleeping with you?! Three of which are _female_ , regardless of one of them being with Scott?!"

"It's completely platonic!" He argued, wrinkling his nose at the implications of his words because ew, gross. "Allison is a friend and usually is followed by Scott so don't worry about that. Erica is, she's my Catwoman. I won't call her my sister because I think sleeping next to me, in just a pair of my boxers and a bra isn't what siblings do. _Oh God_ , just forget I said that before you legitimately kill me. Lydia! And Lydia, she's still my moon and stars but I don't want her like that anymore, I haven't for sometime."

Blowing out a breathe, the Sheriff nodded before narrowing his eyes at Stiles. He couldn't help but freeze because knowing his father, he just made the connection. 

So maybe being related to a John Stilinski, who was a Sheriff and a damn good one, wasn't always a good thing to boast about. 

"And Hale is one of these people that sneak into your bed?"

Ugh, fuck his life sideways. 

He swallowed before opening his mouth and closing it a few times. "Not recently?"

Which, technically wasn't a lie. Yes, Derek had been in his room last night, but after their little... He had no idea what last night was, but he left soon after Stiles had spoken, choosing to literally tuck tail and run. A classic Derek manoeuvre in avoiding a situation, the fucker.

Okay, so maybe that was a little harsh considering he asked for help and apologised, but Stiles was feeling a little vindictive, and he refused to admit that, because hello, hypocrisy at it's best for living in the past. But Stiles got leniency because the situation was still happening and that's what he was sticking with. 

"Jesus Christ! What the hell Stiles?" He asked, hands flailing slightly in a familiar pattern. "He's in his twenties and going to sleep with minors in a bed! In your bed, _in my house_!"

Stiles bit back the 'it's not always just my bed, it's anyone's that just happens to be available.' He didn’t think that would go down too well.

"I know, I know. But it's nothing sexual or anything like what you're thinking." He soothed, "It's just appeasing their wolf instincts to protect and be protected. To surround themselves with a security blanket and be assured that everything is right in the world."

"Okay, okay." He conceded, hand waving in a carry on motion. "Answer my other question before I hear something that I don't want to hear. Werewolves are real and you‘ve been running around, like some vigilante to keep this all a secret?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “You seem a bit too casual about this.”

The Sheriff raised a mocking eyebrow as he leant against the opposite counter to him. “Well, you hiding from me after watching your best friend grow fangs and change eye colour, I think it’s safe to say, I’ve had a lot of time to freak out and trust me, _I have_. You’re damn lucky I know you’d just cause too much trouble if I ended up sending you to your aunt’s house. In another state.”

He had to smile at that. His father knew him too well because if he did do that, there would be a ship load of trouble from his end.

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and glanced up from under his lashes, "Yeah, I thought I could try and protect you."

The Sheriff quirked a gentle smile at that and gestured for him to come over, wrapping Stiles in a massive bear hug when he did. 

"As much as I appreciate it, Kiddo, it's not your place to protect me, I'm your father. It's _my job to protect you_ and I'll be the first to admit, I haven't done a very good job." He spoke, squeezing him tighter. "But that's going to change okay? I promise I'll be around more often if you give me your word, that there'll be no more secrets, no more lying. If you're in trouble, you come straight to me, got it?"

Stiles nodded before stepping back and looking his father in the eye, a silly grin playing on his face. "Promise."


	7. Chapter Seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in three months, Stiles took in a breathe and closed his eyes, feeling a missing piece of him slotting back into place. It felt like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I've written in circles and repeated stuff in this chapter. I can't tell you how many times I've done this chapter, got stuck or annoyed, deleted it and started it all over again. Bleh, so frustrating. :/
> 
>  **Warning** ; There is another panic attack in this chapter, so please, please, please tread lightly if you're easily triggered. 
> 
> Thank you for commenting and reading my stories, people! It's really appreciated. :D

"- then there was that incident where I accidentally scratched Finstock's car and blamed it on Greenberg. I knew he wouldn't do anything to him because they have this weird, _I hate you but I don't, not really_ relationship. Anyway, then there was that one time where Lydia's lacy bra made an appearance in the cafeteria when she bent over in front of me, and I had to make a sprint for the toilets so I could -" 

A rough but gentle hand cupped the nape of his neck and shook him firmly. "Stiles, when I said no more secrets, I meant ones that, I don't know, were _important_ in keeping your silly ass alive."

He grinned at his father cheekily, grin widening when he was given an eye roll in return. "You know you have to elaborate with me. It's how I find loopholes."

"Why waste my breathe on elaborating, when you'd find loopholes in an airtight, ironclad contract and exploit anyone and everyone you saw fit."

"I resent that!" Stiles cried out, jabbing a finger under his father's nose, offended. He paused, going over what he just heard. "Wait, no I don't."

He received another eye roll before the grip wrapped around his neck tightened a bit more. "And don't think I won't punish you for Finstock's car, because I am. And you're not getting out of seeing Deaton with your distractions because you are. Now get out, before I drag you out."

Ugh, his father was immune to the superpower that was the Babble. After spending a good half of his life with his mother and nearly seventeen years with him, he'd be surprised that he wasn't. 

"I don't want to see him." Stiles grumbled, sinking further into his seat. He wasn't sulking, he wasn't. 

"Look Kiddo," The Sheriff soothed, facing the Clinic. "I know he lied to you, but you need to check your back and make sure everything's in order. You can't go to the hospital without getting questions of why the Sheriff's son looks like he was a attacked by a cheese grater."

"We could have gone to Melissa!" 

"Who works at said hospital and lives with a son you've been avoiding, because that makes perfect sense."

Stiles made a face. His father shouldn't use sarcasm, that should be a law. 

"It's not like I'm willingly doing it." He muttered in reply, folding his arms across his chest. 

"I'm not going to try and understand the dynamics of the Pack and how it effects you, because quite frankly, it still confuses me. But from what your muttering rants you've subjected the house appliances and me to, Derek's holding you at arms' length because he‘s afraid. And I don't fault the man after everything he's been through."

"He lied to me! _Me!"_ Stiles protested, hitting his father with wounded eyes. You'd think there would be some solidarity, but clearly everyone was out to get him. "I've been honest with him from the start, and he can't trust me? What the fuck bullshit is that!"

The Sheriff gave him a reprimanding look but didn't comment on him swearing. "I understand that, but can you really blame him, son?"

He couldn't and he certainly wouldn't.

"You're supposed to be on my side." He snapped, instead of answering the question. 

"And I am." His father smiled, ruffling his hair. "But I'm also on the victim's as well."

"I'm a victim too!" Stiles argued, hands whirling around in emphasis. 

"I'm not saying I've forgotten what he's put you through because I haven't," the Sheriff explained, an indescribable look crossing his face, "Just try and understand you'd be exactly the same if you were in his shoes."

Stiles shook his head because his father wasn't getting it. "I understand, I do. He's got trust issues, anyone can see that. I just don't like how he went about this whole thing. If he wanted to question me, it would have hurt a lot less if he had just asked me where do I see myself in five years."

"Why do you think he tested you?"

"I'm human, so was Kate." Stiles answered, giving him an incredulous look, because really? His father was there for the big reveal, there's no way he could have missed that. 

"Hm, that might have a part of it, but personally I think it's because he trusts you a whole hell of a lot, maybe even more than what's necessary to the point it terrifies him. And he's just trying to see if it's reciprocated."

"That’s stupid. _He'd_ have to be stupid to think I don't trust him."

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow, "He's been lied to in the past, words and flames are what literally took his family away in one night, _in twenty minutes_. I can see why he'd prefer physical evidence."

"No, what took his family away was a monster with a pretty face. She was the one to lie, the one to light the match!" Stiles snarled, fed up. "And if Derek wanted physical evidence for my trust, he should think back over all the times I've placed my life in his hands willingly, without _me_ testing _him_!" 

"I don't want to fight with you, Stiles." The Sheriff murmured, moving around the hood of the car and pulling him into a hug. 

He wondered briefly as to when exactly did he get out of the cruiser and start pacing the length of the car, but he ignored it in favour of burying his face in his father's shoulder. 

"But you've got to realise that just because Derek is in his twenties physically, doesn't mean he's there mentally. Whereas you grew up when your mother died, he didn't. Some part of him is still that scared, fifteen year old boy that I watched cling to Laura like a life line. You use words as a blanket, as your defence, whereas Derek‘s an action man. Take offence to him using a stupid ploy in testing you but think about it from a different angle. He wants you to be in the Pack, from where I stand, it looks like he _needs_ you in the Pack. He just wants to make sure that he’s investing into someone who will likely stay in his life and not be ripped, or worse, run away."

Stiles didn't answer, he was just tired of it all. He was tired of talking, of defending himself when it seemed like the people most important to him, couldn't trust him but asked for his trust in return, telling him he should basically harden the fuck up and move forward. If Derek could live in the past, why the fuck couldn't he wallow in the pain the Alpha, his Alpha, put him through?

"Because you're just as important to other people, son." His father's rumbling voice answered, startling him into realising he had said that all aloud. "I'm not trying to guilt trip you into anything you don’t want to do or say. Just remember that there are other people that were affected too. And son, they don't look so good. There's only so much sniffing my scent that helps the Pack and right now, you do need to harden the fuck up because they need you."

Guilt slammed its way into his gut, heavy and hot to the point he felt physically ill. The Pack. He had completely forgotten that this would be killing them inside, that it would be ten times what he's feeling. Guess Derek wasn't the only one in the woe-is-me boat because this was just pathetically hypocritical. 

"I need, I need to get to them. They - I need to see if they're alright." Stiles gasped, stumbling back from his father just in time to empty out his stomach contents in the gutter. 

It felt like a tidal wave, that's the only way he could describe the sudden emotion that had slammed into his chest, knocking out what little air he had there. It was like he had been ignoring the rapidly growing hole in his chest in favour of grasping tightly to his fury, letting it fuel himself to get through the day, to not give in. But what has it cost him to hold onto that anger?

It had been a week since the fight against the Alphas and even then, the Pack weren’t looking their best, sporting the same dark smudges under the eyes and hollowed out cheeks like him. And he forgot all about that because he was just thinking about himself, about how Derek wronged him when in actuality, he wronged _them_. 

Heart going into double time, Stiles found it hard to breathe, his lungs feeling too small for the oxygen he needed. Blunt fingernails clawed at his throat and down below the wings of his collarbones, trying in vain to get air into his body. Fire licked at his skin, his fingers tingled and his teeth chattered behind shaky lips, shredding the inside of his mouth to hell and back. 

"Help me get him inside, Sheriff." A distorted voice rang out, two sets of hands straightening him out from his hunched over position and pulling him forward. 

He doesn't remember being hauled into the Clinic or his father talking him down from the claws of his sudden episode, just remembers slumping on the examination table afterwards and drinking the cup of water that had been shoved under his nose. 

Dazed, he glanced around the room, frowning slightly at the disappearance of his father and a pressure warm against the middle of his back. 

"You told him to go make sure the others were okay," Deaton answered his silent question from behind, steady fingers running along the nearly healed scars slashed between his shoulders. "You were very adamant about it."

He nodded, keeping quiet. 

The vet sighed but continued his work. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Stiles. I wanted to tell you after Derek showed he wasn't going to be persuaded, but it seems you're the only one capable of getting him to change his mind."

Again, Stiles didn't say anything, just kept his gaze locked to the wall in front of him and getting well acquainted with the anatomy of a cat. 

"Scott misses you," he spoke, going for another approach. Stiles wasn't stupid, he knew what the vet was doing. "Isaac does too. I've had to sedate them a few times when they started to fight in here. Not good for bus-"

Stiles held up a hand. "I don't want to talk, okay?" He rasped, throat sore but voice steadily getting louder. "Not about Derek or the Pack. I especially don't want to talk about you acting dumb when you knew what was going on, and you expecting me to feel bad about hearing you having difficulty with Scott and Isaac. If you had come to me, I could have stopped this bullshit from happening! But you fucking stood there and watched it all go to hell!"

He was breathless by the end of his rant, his chest flaring up in pain when he took in a huge gulp of air and fighting against the greying around his vision. He slowly went through the breathing patterns that Lydia had taught him when she found out about his attacks, heart thudding painfully behind his ribcage for a completely different reason. 

"As an Advisor, all I can do is advise." Deaton replied, calmly. And Stiles wanted nothing more than to push at him to lose that tranquillity, to make him snap. "Whether or not Derek chose to do it or not was entirely up to him, but I have my own set of rules I must abide by. I need to stay neutral."

"And that's the problem! Everyone has rules and boundaries for themselves but they completely bypass someone else's like it doesn't matter!" He laughed bitterly, pulling away from the metal table and tugging on his shirt he vaguely knows he took off. 

"Make sure your hands are clean before pointing an accusing finger, Stiles." Deaton replied, coolly, "Because after slapping Derek in the face with Kate, you have no room to speak."

He paused in his retort, equal parts of surprise from the vet's chilly tone and begrudging agreement. 

"Some of us are more to blame than others, but if we move passed that, I'm sure we can solve this matter.” He continued, voice returning to normal, a reassuring smile hitching one side of his mouth. “You just have to take the first step in the right direction.”

 

***

Being awoken to a mouthful of peach and mango scented hair wasn't an unusual occurrence to Stiles, especially after Erica moved right on in. In fact, it was normal, it was welcomed. 

What wasn't normal or welcomed was being woken up because someone punched him in the ribs. 

Gasping out a breathe, Stiles flew up from his position on his stomach, fingers wrapping around the gun tucked between the mattress and headboard, and rolling to the side, safety clicked off and ready to shoot. 

"You know, if you did that move a few years ago in front of me, we could be planning our wedding and thinking of the names for our nine children right now." Lydia mused with a tilt to her head and a grin playing on her face, not at all bothered with being nose to nose with a gun. 

"God Lyds," Stiles groaned, covering his face with a hand, slouching from his tense position on his bed and gun being pushed back in its place. "You scared the fuck out of me."

"Wouldn't have gathered." Boyd commented dryly from somewhere in his room. 

Wait a minute. His room. 

Sitting up quickly, he was faced with the Pack standing around the room, grins stretched widely over their faces. Scott was perched on his desk, Allison standing between his open knees and leaning against his chest, Scott's chin hooked over her shoulder and arms wrapped around her midsection. 

Boyd was sitting in the chair next to said desk, a teary eyed Erica sitting on his lap and hands wringing together, only stopping when her boyfriend held them in his own large hands. Isaac stood beside the couple, lounging slightly on them and the armrest. Lydia was still crouched by the head of the bed and Jackson was sitting by his feet, a genuine smile playing on his face and body relaxed. 

"What are you guys doing here?" Stiles asked, glancing at them. " _How'd_ you guys get in here?"

"Your father broke the barrier this morning after calling Scott." Allison jutted her chin towards his open window, an impish smile tugging at her lips. “Guess being a sneaky shit is hereditary.” 

"Derek's gonna have a fit if he smells me on you." He murmured, heart swelling at his father's actions, grinning slightly because yeah, it was definitely hereditary. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Derek called a Pack meeting today and gave us the okay for seeing you." Isaac answered, a beatific smile playing his face. "We came as soon as it was over."

"Enough talking," Scott whined, eyes flashing gold and arms tightening around Allison. "Let's talk later, okay?"

Stiles took in all the wolves and how there was a fine tremble to their bodies, like they were holding themselves back. Even Allison looked exhausted, slumping back on her boyfriend. 

Grin turning into a gentle smile, he opened his arms and nodded, instantly getting a lapful of Erica, who had literally jumped over Lydia in her haste to get to the bed. She was shaking, nose buried in the arch of his neck, arms and legs wrapped around his shoulders and torso, grip this side of crushing. 

"Don't you ever do that again, Stiles. I'll kill you myself if you shut us out." She ordered, whine lacing her words.

"I'm sorry, Catwoman. I'm so sorry." He whispered, pressing kisses to forehead, cheeks and then her temple. "It won't happen again, promise."

Scott had taken residence on his side, somehow managing to slip his body under his and ending up straddling his left thigh with his legs twined around it. Allison tucked herself between her boyfriend and Stiles, her hand seeking his and threading their fingers together when she found it. She gave him a teary smile when he placed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. 

Jackson and Lydia were a twisted ball of limbs on his other side and just like Scott, had slotted their lower body between the comforter and Stiles' back, Lydia's chin resting comfortably on Erica's head. She nosed at his cheek, letting out a rumble when he nuzzled back with a smile. Jackson threw a leg and arm over his girlfriend, the blonde she wolf on his chest and himself, shifting closer until Stiles could smell the sharp scent of his cologne and feel his breathe fanning over his cheek.

Boyd had crawled up behind his head, picking it up and wriggling around until it was propped on his stomach, one arm running down the length of Scott's back and one of his thighs used as a pillow for both Lydia and Jackson. Isaac hadn’t bothered in finding a place to squeeze in, just laid out over all of them, shifting slightly until his body found a comfortable position, humming when Stiles threaded his fingers through his curls. 

“One more question,” he asked to everyone, ignoring Scott’s groan of disapproval. “Who licked my father?”

Isaac went still beneath his palm and shot him a sheepish smile, cheeks turning pink.

“Fifty bucks for me.” He grinned widely, soothing away his embarrassment with a ruffle of curls as Erica snorted into his neck and Boyd let out a huff of a laugh against the shell of his ear. 

Deep rumbles began from the wolves' chests and he and Allison shared a secret smile at the sound, both settling further into the warm bodies that surrounded them. He glanced around, smile widening at the happy looks playing on everyone's faces, how Jackson snuffled into Lydia's hair and how Scott refused to let go of his leg. 

For the first time in three months, Stiles took in a breathe and closed his eyes, feeling a missing piece of him slotting back into place. It felt like coming home. 

***

John grinned at the sight before him. His son was literally being pinned down to the bed by several sleeping bodies and if it weren't for his head sticking out from the pile, he'd have thought a bunch of people, _a Pack of werewolves_ , had broken into his house and fell asleep on his son‘s bed. 

A steady rumble, almost a low purr and small snuffling sounds echoed around the room and John couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. It was a little uncomfortable seeing Erica perched on Stiles’ chest like it was her favourite spot in the world - because the last thing he and his son needed, was an unplanned pregnancy-, but from the smile playing on her face as Stiles ran a soothing hand down her spine in his sleep, he guessed he could be lenient.

He hasn't been there when Stiles needed him, but as he closed the door to his room, John hoped that this was a start.


	8. Chapter Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never really questioned the bonds between an Alpha and their Betas or bonds between Pack-mates, just knew that there was nothing stronger than that bond, that it was unquestionable. That it was just pure instinct that could never go wrong, that could never be doubted. 
> 
> So, why did he doubt Stiles?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long winded, it's not even funny. I had a lot of difficulty writing from Derek's POV because seriously, the man has some major angst issues, but I tried my best. Thank you everyone for taking the time to read this and comment your thoughts, it's appreciated! :)

Walking through the cemetery, wind blowing leaves around his feet gently and Beacon Hills silent, Derek couldn't help but take a shaky breathe in. 

He doesn't remember much about the nightmare he just had twenty minutes beforehand, but he can still feel phantom hands, calloused and firm gliding over his body, see a flash of a dangerous smile, smell a sweet perfume that used to send his pulse racing but now, made him feel sick. 

The sense of having the walls closing in on him when he awoke, had Derek ripping the duvet off him and literally making a run for the front door of his house, only just managing to get his shoes and shirt on, jacket missing, left carelessly on the couch. He didn't have a set destination, just let his feet take him somewhere and it wasn't until he was walking passed a cherub playing a harp, did he realise where he was. 

He stopped at the foot between two plots, swallowing heavily at the names _Laura Marie Hale_ and _Hale Family_ written across each headstone, marble glistening in the crescent moonlight. They had asked him if he wanted to put any dates on there, but Derek had just shook his head, muttered that he'd never forget the day, the time his family had died. He didn't need another reminder. 

He knew Laura died at three forty-five in the afternoon, on a Tuesday. It was the fifth of May. His family died at ten to eleven on a Friday morning in August. It had been the thirteenth. Irony and Kate were clearly cold hearted bitches. 

"I need your help," Derek whispered, fists clenching by his sides. "I fucked up and I don't know how to fix it."

Silence. 

"Please," he begged, voice cracking slightly and fury searing his insides. "Say something, anything. Please!"

Again his pleas were unanswered, the world silent as the night around him, and it took all of him not to snarl and punch something, like someone else's gravestone.

He closed his eyes and dug the heel of his palms into said eyes, mind in overdrive and his body weary. He took a deep breathe in when a sense of calm flooded his body, instinctively knowing it was from the Pack. 

Derek could feel their contentment instead of the frazzled, bursting at the seam nerves that had plagued them for the past three months and it made him smile slightly, if a bit bitterly. They were with Stiles. His wolf whined lowly and pawed at his chest, begged to be with his Pack but he held back from making a sprint towards the Stilinski house.

He never really questioned the bonds between an Alpha and their Betas or bonds between Pack-mates, just knew that there was nothing stronger than that bond, that it was unquestionable. That it was just pure instinct that could never go wrong, that could never be doubted. 

So, why did he doubt Stiles?

He selfishly thought in the beginning that maybe it was because he was human like Kate, and didn't really have no ties to them, to _him_ , but that wasn't the case anymore. Not since after watching Stiles cover Lydia's body with his own to shield her from wolfsbane powder that had just expelled from a grenade - Hunters were getting real fucking technical on their weapons - above their heads. 

(Stiles' back had gotten shrapnel from the mini explosion, small scars crisscrossing over the skin from his shoulders, down to the dimples of his lower back. Lydia would always trace over them with soft fingertips whenever he was shirtless, a low whine coming from the back of her throat, that usually was silenced with a gentle kiss to the forehead and a comment about how 'some people liked guys with mysterious scars.'

Derek thought that would be true if it weren't for the fact that he knew how Stiles got each and every one of them. He knows that it was the faeries that gave Stiles the jagged mark on his right collarbone, their teeth sharp as razors. The one under his left eye was from the fall he had in the woods, when he was dodging flying trees that were more like spears because of a crazy ass witch. 

The small scar just above his right eye, near his hairline was from when Isaac shoved Stiles out of the way from the line of fire when fighting Hunters, his push a little too hard and Stiles, before smashing through the window head first, made a grab for the same Hunter and pulled him down with him, falling from the first storey of an abandoned warehouse. The resulting scar he got on his shin was from the surgery to fix his fractured tibia.

Then the one that ran down the left side of his body and curling in over his hip was from Ethan, and the most recent scar from Kali, the four slashes between his shoulder blades.)

Derek then thought that maybe he questioned Stiles because he was getting some sick thrill from everything that was happening, which now thinking about it was just fucking idiotic on his part. 

The Alpha had seen the devastated look that had crossed Stiles' face when after he had driven to his house, informed him that Erica and Boyd were back and they were alive, if barely. He had smelt the fear and their blood on his skin, hear the maddening pace of his heart, but it was the look that told Derek he should accept the fact that this kid, this _human_ kid was more Pack than he had ever been in his. 

These thoughts though had never really occurred to him, until after the Alpha Pack had went rampant in Beacon Hills. Until after Ethan had laughed down at him and said _'they all leave in the end, we've seen it, we've been the cause of it. What makes your little human so special for you to think, he'll stay with your Pack forever_?'

Derek couldn't think of an answer besides "He's Pack. He always will be." And his words had rang true but unfortunately, the seed had been planted. 

It didn't really matter if he and the rest of the Pack thought he was, ultimately if Stiles wanted to leave, they couldn't, wouldn't stop him just like he wouldn't stop any of the wolves. It wasn't fair to keep them here if they didn't want to be. Besides the obvious signs of his friendships and his love for the Pack, Derek questioned if that was enough for Stiles to stay. 

With the wolves it was different. Their instincts told them; to have numbers, is to have strength. It also gave them bonds that were hard to break, no matter the distance or radio silence between Pack. Being human, one didn't get that. 

They got the bond sure, but it wasn't soul deep embedded, was just a few layers in, easily removable, easily breakable but still just as harmful to a werewolf if cut from the other end. 

So, Derek thought what he was doing the Pack, was a favour and broke the bond first. He didn't realise that just like everything else he had assumed about Stiles, he would be wrong. 

It had started off small, like getting a pinch from a flu shot, then the sensations increased. Nausea, cold sweats and the loss of concentration, Derek was lucky to get through the day without wanting to claw at the walls of his house in frustration. 

That's when the big boys started; muscles clenched and unclenched under skin that felt stretched too thin, a steady beat pounded between his temples and the feeling of having his insides rearranged with a fork, erupted in his chest almost daily. 

Derek knew the Pack were feeling it too, the smudges under their eyes confirmed it, but there wasn't much else he could do. The damage had been done and no matter how much he wished and prayed, nothing was going to fix it. 

Everything had been going fine, perfect in fact, before this. There was no tension between anyone, everyone was equal, was treated fairly. Derek thought that maybe it was because he was becoming the Alpha everyone needed him to be. Now though, he doubted that very much. It felt almost like the first couple of months of being an Alpha, where mistake after mistake kept coming like waves crashing on the shores.

His jaw snapped shut with a loud click when the familiar pain erupted in his chest, the feeling of having white hot claws slashing his insides to ribbons and his muscles beginning to spasm excruciatingly. 

Panting, Derek doubled over with his arms crossed over his stomach when the sensations tripled, fucking quadrupled, and he only just managed to keep from passing out right over Laura's grave. 

"It's getting worse, it seems." 

Whirling around and fighting against the blurring in his vision, he let out a snarl, body hunched in defensively and ready to spring. 

"Who's there?"

"Hello Derek." Deaton greeted, stepping out from the darkness that had surrounded him, like some fucking mystical being.

Either the vet was getting really good at masking his scent and keeping himself quiet or Derek was seriously out of it, because he hadn't even heard a heartbeat besides his own. 

"What do you want?" He asked, breathlessly. 

Deaton raised a questioning eyebrow and stepped closer to him, turning and crouching before one of the graves. He placed his hand gently down on the ground and in a sweeping motion, caressed the blades of grass there. "I'm trying, Talia. I hope you can see that, my friend."

Derek felt his stomach churn and his throat close. 

He smiled gently before letting out a sigh, pushing up back onto his feet and pinning Derek with a soft look. "I want you to fix these mistakes."

He stood slowly too, arms still wrapped around his waist as aftershocks of pain wracked through him. He breathe out heavily before muttering out a, "Yeah, get in line."

"Doing the blame game isn't going to solve anything, Derek." The vet chastised gently. "I'm just suggesting that whatever pity party you're throwing yourself has gone on far enough."

"What do you expect me to do?!" He growled, fed up. He was just tired of it all. Tired of fighting, tired of living when everyone he loved was dead all because he got flustered when a pretty smile was sent in his direction. "There's only so much apologising I can do before it starts to get hollow."

"The problem is they were hollow to begin with." The vet replied, "You're not sorry that you tested Stiles, you're just sorry that you were proven wrong. Like I said you would be."

Which... wasn't exactly far from the truth. 

His jaw clenched. "So, what? This is your way of saying I told you so?"

"If I wanted to tell you I told you so, I would have, but the situation doesn't need that." Deaton said firmly. "What the situation needs is to be resolved. The Sheriff and I only just managed to stop the Pack and Stiles' health from declining, and now we have to focus on you."

"I'm fine."

The vet scoffed and gestured at the length of him, pale, sweaty and body trembling. "What I just saw says otherwise. You keep separating yourself from the Pack and it's going to get dangerous. You'll turn into a feral Alpha."

He swallowed at the idea of becoming feral, of losing his mind just like Peter. Derek didn't want that, his sure no werewolf did, but he screwed up so spectacularly that he wasn't sure what he could do to prevent the likely outcome. 

"Are you sure it'll come to that?"

Deaton nodded. "You go mindless Derek and I'll have no choice but to call the Argents in. And with you gone, the Hunters will go after the Pack and kill them, regardless if they're in control of themselves. Without an Alpha, they're as good as dead."

"Then what do you advise, advisor?" He asked, sarcastically. 

He was given a look that spoke volumes, ' _If you had listened to what I had said, you wouldn't be neck deep in this fuckery. So don't blame me._ '

The vet sighed. "This is a pretty serious situation as you can obviously tell, but maybe not all is lost. You need to explain why you did what you did, make him and the Pack understand."

"That's it?" Derek questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Talk it out?"

"Bridges were burned Derek, it's going to take a lot more than just talking. I'm sure though, that communication between you and the Pack will do everyone some good."

Derek nodded, mind twisting and turning, going through scenarios he could go through to fix his mistakes. He should speak to Stiles first before anything else. He just hoped it didn't end up like last time. 

A shiver ran up his spine that had nothing to do with the night chill, when Derek remembered warm skin and breathless pants that had been his name. He bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head to clear it. That kiss wasn't supposed to happen. When he called it a mistake, he wasn't lying because it was. 

The last thing he ever wanted was to become Kate. Despite the fact that Stiles is two years older than he had been, it didn't matter. The damage that would inevitably come would still be the same and he couldn't be able to live with that guilt. He wouldn't dare touch something so innocent, so pure. With that being said, that just brought all his fucked up issues to light and his tendency to turn everything he touched to shit. Sort of like the opposite effect of Midas. 

"I just can't understand why you'd want to test him." Deaton spoke, frown tugging at his lips and bringing him from his mental musings. 

Guess that made the two of them. 

"He - Stiles is -" Derek started, letting out a frustrated sigh before slumping his shoulders. "He throws himself in front of danger regardless of his humanity. He gets tossed around, slashed, bones snapped and fractured and he still keeps fighting for everyone, for me. He protects the Pack with his body and mind and it... He acts more like an Alpha than I wish I could be and he's not even a werewolf. Besides my parents, Stiles is the strongest person I know."

Deaton held his gaze, eyes calculating. "So what seemed to be the problem? You've just given me reasons to _keep_ Stiles in the Pack, not toss him out like garbage. And don't say because he's human when you know deep down that isn't the case."

"He scares me." Derek admitted softly after a pregnant pause, crossing his arms across his chest to ward off the scrutinising look coming his way. "That he'd kill someone for the Pack, for me. I only had that when it was my family and they were blood. "

He still remembers that heart stopping moment where Ethan had him pinned, his throat exposed and his pulse racing as the other Alpha brought his clawed hand down towards him. And then there was Stiles, his body covering his chest and his neck, the sounds of fabric and skin being ripped ringing in his ears. 

Derek thinks that Stiles didn't know he was bleeding until after he had moved and slashed Ethan's throat from ear to ear, his crimson eyes fading before him and his face going slack. 

It had been silent in the forest except for the Pack's harsh breathing and it wasn't until Stiles collapsed to his knees, a groan tumbling out of his mouth and blood running down from the gash on his side, did everyone realise that someone they cared about, could die. 

There's only a handful of times where Derek has been completely bone numbing, heart stopping terrified. 

The first time was when he accidentally broke his mother's favourite china set, by accidentally tossing his baseball around in the kitchen near the cabinets they were held in, gold and blue porcelain shiny when the sun hit them at the right angle from the windows. He had been warned by his father twenty minutes beforehand not to do it, but the eight year old him had rolled his eyes dramatically and protested that he wasn't a klutz. 

The three hour long earbashing that Laura recorded and showed everyone afterwards proved otherwise.

The second time had been when Laura stumbled into his class, her face ashen and shakily telling him they had to go, that something terrible happened. It wasn't ten minutes later that he was standing in front of his destroyed childhood home, the smell of burnt flesh and Kate's perfume lingering in the air. 

Derek could officially add having to hear Stiles' heartbeat begin to slow down as he ran through the woods to the list. If it weren't for the couple camping a couple miles up from where the fight had begun, Derek knew he wouldn't have made it regardless if he gave him the bite with or without Stiles' consent. 

And that right there scared Derek too. That he'd go to such lengths to keep him safe. When even though Stiles had proved himself time and time again, there was still a boa constrictor wrapped around his chest, keeping him from stretching out for the last few inches of trusting so completely. But despite that, he would fight and struggle against its grasp to get to Stiles, whether he was ready for it or not. 

It had taken everything in him to not follow Stiles to the hospital, his own words to the Pack echoing in his ears as he watched the ambulance peel away from the side of the road in flashing blue and red, sirens blaring.

"You all look like something out of a horror movie. Clean up and then go."

They looked distressed, whines high pitched and licking the air and eyes glowing feral gold. Allison too didn't fare too well at the suggestion but nodded anyway, tugging a vibrating Scott with her. 

They had gotten there at the same time freshly washed and still injured but hiding it well. Scott after spotting Stiles’ father had immediately wrapped the Sheriff up in a massive hug, the older man looking shaky and confused, questions firing off left, right and centre.

"I can't imagine what losing your family would feel like Derek, but the way I see it is, is you've gained just as much as you've lost." Deaton spoke, "You remember my words to you about trusting someone?"

The Alpha nodded. "Yeah, you told me to trust Scott."

Deaton quirked a smile as he turned around to walk away. "Did I?"

Derek's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched darkness engulf the vet. "If it wasn't Scott who was it supposed -"

 _'Can't you just trust me this once_?'

' _No! You don’t trust me, I don’t trust you. But you need me to survive, which is why you’re not letting me go._ '

Derek’s mouth opened at the small epiphany he just had.

It was Stiles.


	9. Chapter Nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wanna tell us about that hickey you came to school with?"
> 
> Ah, crap. Maybe he should have talked first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh. Sorry for the late update everyone. I'm trying not to rush the build, I guess. Trying to keep it realistic. I hope I'm doing just that even though I wanna claw at my walls in frustration. Hah. 
> 
> Thank you again for commenting and taking the time to read this, you're all beautiful. (:

Through narrowed eyes, Stiles watched on as Lydia shoved the guys out of his window, all the while ignoring their protests of leaving his side so soon.

"Oh, come on!" Scott whined, turning around and hitting her with the 'puppy dog eyes' at full force, even going as far as jutting his bottom lip out with a slight wobble. “Can’t we go to the store later? Please Lydia?”

Stiles had to smirk because despite being immune to said look over the years, no one else was. Not even the woman who gave birth to him. 

She let out a sigh, moving back slightly to allow Scott back in. He knew something bad was going to happen though, when he saw Lydia hold her hand out to help him. No one had her wait on hand and foot for them; it was the complete opposite. They _waited_ on her. 

So he wasn't all that surprised when Lydia shoved him out, a low thump and groan echoing up to the second storey window. He winced. So maybe he wasn't the only one immune, but Stiles figured Scott was happy to be a werewolf right about now, if the curses were anything to go by. 

"And don't forget my peanut brittle, Jackson!" She ordered, slamming the window shut, spinning around to face him, his shirt that she wore fanning against her thighs. 

"You know that I have your peanut brittle here," he huffed, raising an eyebrow at her. "It's been there for three months because I don't eat nuts."

"He doesn't eat nuts." Erica grinned with a snort and elbowed Allison, who like Lydia, were both dressed in one of his shirts.

He's not sure when exactly they had changed from their clothes and into his, but he prayed a silent prayer that his father wouldn't come home early, to find three pretty girls wearing just his shirt and him only clad in a pair of sleep pants. He figured just because he was alright with them piling on him in bed, he didn't want to push his luck. 

Allison laughed and winked. "Amateur."

Stiles made a face. "Firstly, gross. I don't need images of you eating nuts; food or anatomy wise, ever. Secondly, you guys aren't as subtle as you think. What do you want?"

Allison tapped him on the cheek with gentle fingertips before walking over to his bed, patting it once in invitation. "We just wanna talk."

"Yep," Erica said, popping the 'p' with a smirk and ignoring his glare. She walked over to where the Huntress was and sat cross legged beside her, head resting on Allison's shoulder. "Just wanna talk."

"So move your ass, Stilinski." Lydia ordered, pushing him towards the bed. 

"Ooh, speak dirty to me," he deadpanned but obeyed, falling face first and star fishing over Allison and Erica, making them fall back onto his bed with a giggle, the strawberry blonde settling in by his side with her legs tossed over his lower back. 

He could feel their expectant looks burning his skin but he refused to talk. They were the ones that wanted to interrogate him, so why make it easy for them?

"Fine," Erica snapped after a while, jabbing him in the neck with a finger. "Wanna tell us about that hickey you came to school with?"

Ah, crap. Maybe he should have talked first. 

"Let's talk about something else," he murmured, tucking his face in Allison's hip, face heating up slightly. 

Stiles had swept that incident under the proverbial rug and tried to forget about it. Which proved to be slightly difficult. It wasn't hard to hide the marks from his father until they faded, what was though, was he couldn't rid himself the memory of feeling stubble scrape over his skin of his throat and pulse, the way Derek's lips felt brushing against his and the way his fingertips dragged over the skin of his hips. 

"Oh, no you don't." Lydia laughed, digging her heel into his ribs. "Come on, give us the details. Is he a good kisser?"

"Way to make me sound like a thirteen year old girl at a sleepover." His words were muffled by Allison's side. She dragged her fingernails over his scalp soothingly. 

"We can braid our hair and have a pillow fight later, Batman." Stiles could hear Erica's eyes roll. "Now, give us the goods! I've waited three months too long to hear about this!"

"There's nothing good about it! He just shoved me against my door and kissed me!" He exclaimed, turning his head to glare at them. 

Instead of being sheepish, he was given three Cheshire Cat-like grins. He rolled his own eyes, but couldn't help but let his mouth stretch into a grin too. 

"Get a little hot and heavy?" Allison asked, poking him on the cheek.

"Yes." He admitted with a groan, really feeling like a thirteen year old girl gushing about her crush. There goes his chances of ever becoming a manly man. "He had me pinned to the door and we were grinding and just before I could reach my happy place, he stops and leaps out the window!"

"Ugh, inconsiderate." Lydia commented, nose wrinkling in offence. He hoped that that wasn't a dig at Jackson, he really, _really_ did. 

"Tell me about it." He muttered, glaring at his door like it personally had offended him. 

"What were you talking about before the kiss?" Erica questioned, looking like a little girl asking for a bed time story. 

The easy atmosphere disappeared and in its place was tension. Stiles had honestly forgot about what had happened before hand, of them actually fighting about the Pack. He felt slightly sick for worrying more about a denied orgasm than at the situation at hand. He selfishly couldn't find the strength to find out what type of person that made him. 

"We were arguing." He confesses, slipping from under Lydia's weight and onto his feet. He ignored the pouts that were sent his way. "About him kicking me out of the Pack and you guys. That we were all getting sick because we were separated."

"It felt like someone dug something out of my chest with a spoon," Allison murmured, sitting up again and drawing her knees in. "Dad told me it wasn't supposed to be this bad, after he watched me nearly fall down the stairs from the pain. I had to stop him from going out to find Derek and putting an arrow up his ass. His words, not mine."

Stiles quirked a smile. Chris Argent, though accepting of his daughter being in a Pack, still clearly had his moments. It was slow coming steps that Scott and Allison were taking with her father, but progress was progress, no matter how small. 

"It just fucking hurt," Erica said, with no finesse and a shrug to a shoulder. "And something I refuse to go through again."

"What are we gonna do to fix this?" Lydia asked, pinning him with piercing eyes. "Because we can't go back to us not being together. We were at each other's throats most of the time. Literally. Erica and I fought daily like Scott and Isaac did. And you know those two don't fight each other."

Allison nodded, smiling sheepishly. "I shot Isaac cause he tossed Scott into a tree outside of a Pack meeting. Derek had to growl at us to stop fighting. It wasn't very pretty."

"What with my two werewolf queens snarling at each other instead of planning for world domination, and having the Wonder Twins' bromance ruined to shreds." He said dryly, raising a mocking eyebrow. "I can kinda tell."

Stiles sighed and began to pace the length of his bed. He had no idea of how to go about whatever this was. It wasn't just about mending the massive rift between the Pack now. It was also to show Derek that he, that _the Pack_ , were here to stay. That nothing, short of actual death would get them to leave. 

Which to some would sound really, really committing, but that's what Pack was all about. It was the secure knowledge that if one of them got knocked to the ground, someone was already there to help them up while another was blocking any oncoming dangers. Some friendships and bonds were meant to be broken, but Pack wasn't supposed to be one of them. 

"Batman, what are we going to do?"

"I honestly don't know." Stiles answered finally, shoulders slumping. "We can't act as if nothing happened because that'll only lead to an inevitable clusterfuck that we won't be able to come back from. Has Derek said anything to you? About being sick, me or anything?"

All three females shared an uneasy look. 

"What's with the faces?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest and raising both his eyebrows. Ugh, he felt like his father whenever he caught Stiles doing something he wasn't supposed to do. 

"Outside of Pack meetings, we don't really see Derek. He just disappears and shows up when the pain gets too much." Lydia shrugged, giving him a hesitant smile, that should never be on such a fierce force that is Lydia Martin. "I think he doesn't know what to do either."

"So, we technically don't know what state he's in?"

Three heads were shaken from left to right. 

"We know what might happen if we don't find out where he's at physically?" He questioned, swallowing slightly. 

He hasn't read anything about a situation like this before, the affects of what would happen if a Pack member was coerced to leave. He's pretty sure that one wouldn't do that in the first place, but hey, the Hale Pack were clearly out to set the stereotypes straight.

Allison winced. "Dad might have mentioned that if Derek continues avoiding us and let's whatever this is fester, he's gonna go feral and lose his humanity. Like Peter did. He'll have no choice but to kill him."

Erica silently grabbed Lydia's hand when Peter was mentioned. He was still a sore subject with her. 

Before his second and permanent death, Derek's uncle had wreaked havoc on Beacon Hills and the next town over, all the while using whatever mind control he had over Lydia to help him. 

It had taken three days to get her back to a lucid state where she could understand where she was and who she was with. Telling her what Peter had done was difficult, Lydia's mouth slack from horror and eyes wide. She had asked if she had killed anyone and all Stiles could do was nod gravely, blinking in surprise when she crowded in, nose buried in the curve of his neck and arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the tell tale pricks of claws digging into his skin. He never told Lydia that she had killed three people, added to that number with Peter's count of nine, it was safe to say that it wasn't an awesome time in Beacon Hills. 

What with the somewhat newly found proof that werewolves were real, when has it ever?

And if they happened to spread his burnt ashes mixed with wolfsbane over the four corners of the town, buried ten feet under cement, well, no one had the right to blame them. They just wanted to be sure. 

"Well, this just got ten times harder." He muttered, plopping back down on his bed, smiling slightly when the girls crowded in and curled around his back. 

"And not in the sexy way." Erica quipped, hooking her chin over his shoulder. 

It was silent for a few seconds before they burst out in laughter. 

***

Stiles walked in the front door, letting out an exhausted sigh and leaning against the wood heavily. His eyes stung from combing all the books he had given Lydia, his back aching from being hunched over the table hours on end. 

Even the Argents logs and books had nothing on their situation and to be honest, that scared him. 

From what he could gather from Allison, if Derek did lose his humanity and her father did kill him, the Pack would be in tatters. 

He wasn't lying to Erica when he said they were all stronger with Derek here. The man gave their wolves stability, something to lean on when they weren't at their full strength. You take that away and then Beacon Hills turns into _Hunting Season: Werewolf Edition_ no matter if the Betas were in control.

Having an Alpha was the second thing that kept Chris Argent away - the first clearly being his daughter. It was kind of a rule, a _Code_ , that established Packs were to be left alone unless human blood had been spilt. The minute any Hunter found out that there was a Pack with no Alpha, would be considered a threat in need of being eliminated.

And Stiles couldn't have that. He'd just gotten the Pack back and the last thing he needed right now, was an external threat jeopardise that. 

He let out another sigh and pushed himself off the door and into the kitchen where he could hear movement. 

The Sheriff was sitting down at the table, a plate that must have had a sandwich on it, placed in front of him. 

"Have you figured out what you're gonna do with the Pack?" He asked, glancing up from the files he had spread out before him. 

Stiles shook his head, frowning slightly. It felt unnatural to hear his father mention them with such casualness that at first, it put his teeth on edge. Like having him know disturbed the line he had drawn in the dirt between the normal world and the supernatural one. 

He guessed his father wasn't the only one to adjust with him knowing about werewolves. 

"No," he answered, slipping into the chair opposite him. "I mean yes, sort of. We're trying to get passed the clingy 'don't leave again' phase but I'm still trying to think of what we should do with Derek."

The Sheriff clicked his tongue in understanding, sliding papers back into their correct folders. "Deaton said this isn't safe for him either, especially since he's an Alpha."

Stiles narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't touch the subject of his father having secret meetings, with the vet. If it were him, he'd do the same thing, so he couldn't really fault him. Still was weird to kind of hear that he and Deaton were bros.

He nodded, a grim smile playing on his lips. "I've never heard anything like this happening, but whatever the case, it's not going to end pretty if we don't fix it."

"We'll take on one problem at a time, okay son?" The Sheriff soothed, getting up and shucking on his jacket. "Get the Pack situated first and then we'll move onto Derek and how we're gonna help him."

A weight lifted off his shoulders at his father's words. Sure having Lydia thinking over the situation too was a lot of help, but having someone like his dad, like an _adult_ in the know now, made his life a little easier to live. Like he didn't have to always have the answers. It was nice, it was comforting. 

Stiles stood up too and darted in for a hug, wrapping his arms around his father's waist tightly. "Thank you for everything, dad. Really. It - it doesn't hurt as much anymore. Having the Pack around again helps."

The Sheriff smiled and tightened his grip before letting him go. "Good, I'm glad to hear it." His eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "Mr. Argent called too, said he needs you to call back right away. Any idea what he wants?”

Stiles pursed his lips and shook his head, just as miffed as his father was. He moved to grab his phone from the pocket of his jeans, switched it on. “No, why would he need me to call him? I’m not the one that does the interactions between the Pack and the Argents, that’s Allison‘s job.”

His father shrugged. “He tried calling you and everyone in the Pack, said that all your phones were off and told me, for you to get into contact with him as soon as possible.”

He sucked some air in through his teeth. The reason why everyone’s phones were off was because it was an agreed rule by everyone, that there were to be no outside distractions from the outside world, when the Pack was all together, bonding. Guess it wasn’t going to be an option now if Chris Argent was calling and looking for them.

Stiles glanced down at his phone screen and winced.

_13 missed calls - C.A_

He pressed the CALL button and put the phone on loud speaker so his father could hear.

“Stiles, you need to get your ass to my house now.” Was the first thing he heard from the other end.

He shared a look with the Sheriff, eyebrows drawn up high on their foreheads. “Ah, why? Shouldn’t Scott be the one to -”

“Stiles, listen to me very carefully.” Chris interrupted, voice hard and gruff. “A group of Hunters heard the Pack’s howls from that night. They’re interested and they’re on their way. Unlike my daughter or Scott who happened to _forget_ about telling me that there were more Alphas in the area, they were inclined to call ahead and tell me of their arrival and why they’re entering my jurisdiction. They want Derek and I can’t turn them down. My name holds power in the Hunting circle, but if a Madison says they want in, you give them safe passage and all of your intel.”

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging on the strands in frustration. “But why are you telling me this? What can I do?”

”If you don’t know then there’s still a lot for you to learn about your position in the Pack, Stiles. Get over here now, we’ll talk more when you arrive. Call Scott and bring him too.”

The line went dead and Stiles was left staring at it in confusion.

“Jesus, kiddo. What the hell’s happening now?” His father asked.

He shook his head and grabbed his discarded keys from the table, “I have no idea, but I guess I’m going to find out.”


	10. Chapter Ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But why now? He's had nearly two years to come to Beacon Hills," Scott frowned, glancing at him. 
> 
> Stiles shook his head and shrugged. "Guess he didn’t have much of a reason until now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God. Sorry for the late update! I've bitten - hah, get it? Yeah that was terrible - off more than I can chew with this story, so I'm trying not to rush the build. This is literally being posted after writing it, so if there's any typos or mistakes, I'll find and fix them after I sleep for a billion years. 
> 
> **Warning** ; there are some spoilers to Season 3 in this chapter. I don't go into detail, but it just skims over the Twins. So, be warned. 
> 
> Also, if anyone has Tumblr and if you like, you can follow me [here](http://hale-the-majesty.tumblr.com) and teach me your magical ways of Tumblring. Seriously. You'd think that me living on the site would reward me in the knowledge of how to use it, but you'd be wrong. Deadly wrong. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this and comment your thoughts. It's appreciated and you're beautiful!

"Someone mind telling me what life has decided to screw us with, today?"

Chris rolled his eyes, but stepped back and allowed Scott and him to walk into the house. "Nice to see you and your theatrics again so soon, Stiles."

He grinned cheekily over his shoulder as he made his way down to the basement, the usual setting whenever Scott asked him to tag along. "I aim to please."

It felt like déjá vu, whenever Stiles glanced around the room at the bottom of the staircase, flashes of Erica and Boyd hanging from the beam lining the ceiling. He always shuddered when he walked under it, memories of staring up at it as Gerard's fists lay into him while the wolves watched on, whimpers at the back of their throat. 

No one besides Boyd and Erica, knew what really transpired here in the Argent's basement and he was thankful, that they didn't say anything to anyone. A bit embarrassing to hear about a fossil like man with cancer, beating the living shit out of you. 

He felt a flicker of guilt at keeping this one secret from his father, but there were just some wounds he wasn't prepared to rip the bandaid off of. Besides, telling his father wouldn't do anything, Gerard was dead and what happened was in the past. No need to reopen said wounds. 

Scott nudged him gently, a confused tick to his eyebrows. "You alright, dude?"

He nodded with a faint smile, bumping their shoulders together, reassuring him by touch that he was fine. He turned to the older man walking down the stairs, smile disappearing. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Like I said on the phone, I got a call from Josh Madison, asking for permission to enter Beacon Hills."

"If he was asking for permission, why couldn't you deny it?" Scott asked, crossing his arms over his chest, looking serious. 

Stiles smiled to himself. His best friend could rival him, even Lydia, if he set his mind to it. He resisted the urge to find a gold star sticker and press it onto his shirt.

"Like I also said on the phone, is you don't deny the Madisons. If you think the Argent's name goes back into history, than you're in one hell of a surprise when it comes to them." Chris answered, jaw ticking. "Gerard was crazy but compared to Josh, Gerard doesn't hold a candle to him."

"What do they want?" Stiles questioned, leaning his hands against the table in between them, ignoring the weapons left on the surface. 

"He's always been interested in Beacon Hills but due to... My family's familiarity with the town, the Council thought it would be best with us taking the territory than anyone else."

Ah, the Council. He's heard of them before, only ever in passing but from what Allison indulged him in, they were basically the Volturi of the Hunting circle. And did he just make a Twilight joke? What is his life ladies and gentlemen?

"But why now? He's had nearly two years to come," Scott frowned, glancing at him. 

Stiles shook his head and shrugged. "Guess he didn’t have much of a reason until now.”

“That’s what I needed to speak to you about.” Chris answered, moving to the left and pulling a bound book out from a locked drawer and placing it in front of them. “This book was sent to me four months ago. Madison’s been after the Alpha Pack ever since he got wind of them. I didn’t even know about them, until this was sent to me and was asked to keep my ear to the ground, about any suspicious activity coming our way from the west. Since I didn’t hear about the Alpha Packs until after your first and second encounter with them,” he paused to glare at Scott, who had the grace to look sheepish, “I couldn’t notify that they’d made contact with Beacon Hills until after they were taken care of.”

Stiles picked the book up, opened it and scanned through it, taking in the hand written notes about the once Alpha Pack, grimacing at the gruesome accounts of their murders across the country. 

He turned a page and read the passage there on what was clearly about the twins, Aiden and Ethan.

“ _They join themselves together to create a bigger, stronger Alpha. Should proceed with caution._ “ He read out loud, eyebrows furrowed. He glanced up to meet the Hunter’s eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

Allison’s father shook his head. “From what I hear, you don’t wanna know. Just thank whoever’s been looking out for you, that you never met them when they were together.”

Scott shared a puzzled look with him before he shrugged. Whatever. They were dead now.

“Anyway,” Stiles spoke, leaning against the table. “Why do you need us then? Shouldn’t he be happy the Alpha Pack is gone for good? The human race is safe and blah, blah, blah.”

For the first time since he knew the Hunter, Chris shifted nervously before him. “I had to tell him how they were killed and by who.”

And suddenly he understood, everything was clear.

“You told him about the Pack and now Madison wants to know who we are."

Chris nodded. "It's not entirely unheard of a Pack taking out another, especially one as dangerous as this one, but he's fascinated with the idea that a bunch of high schoolers, did what he couldn't."

From the corner of his eye, Stiles watched as Scott preened and he glowered at him. Now was definitely not the time to be cocky. 

"Listen really closely." He ordered, grabbing his best friend by the nape and shaking him gently. "If a bunch of us, people who haven't graduated yet, can take out an Alpha Pack before a senior Hunting party can, what do you think he's thinking of us as?"

Scott's face contorted with concentration, and he could almost see the wheels in his head turning. His eyes lit up when he understood. "He thinks we're a threat. That as we get older, we'll get more dangerous."

"Atta boy." He congratulated, grinning when he was given a pleased smile. 

"He's also fascinated about you." 

Stiles snapped his head around, thinking that maybe he either heard wrong or the man was talking about Scott. 

When even Scott was looking at him worriedly, he pointed to himself and received a nod. "What's so fascinating about me? _How_ does he know about me?"

"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Stiles. I gave him everything I know about you and the Pack. I had no choice but to follow protocols. If I lied and he found out, he'd put a bullet between my eyes for withholding information." Chris explained, said eyes hard. 

"So to save your own skin, you give out our names, our whereabouts and because you're that type of person, our weaknesses too. That's perfect, really."

"If you haven't forgotten, my daughter's apart of your Pack too."

Stiles nodded and stood up to his full height with a glare. "Yeah, which is how I know you kept her name out of this, or else she'd be standing where you are, talking to me instead of you. You told her that the hard decisions were left up to the women, something tells me she didn’t exactly authorise this information sharing."

The Hunter didn't deny it, but instead smiled. "That right there is why Madison is fascinated with you. You're the first of something that's never been seen before; a human Second in a werewolf Pack."

Psh, yeah. Wait. What?

Stiles spluttered before letting out an incredulous laugh. "I'm not Derek's Second, Scott is."

Said person avoided his gaze when he turned to face him, neck familiarly bared. 

Again. What?

"You've got to be kidding me. I'm not Derek's Second! Dude! Tell him!"

Scott shrugged, glancing up at him from under his lashes. "It was bound to happen."

" _It was bound_ \- what the fuck are you on about?" He snapped. Stiles shook his head. "No, no. I think I would have known if I was somehow bumped up in the hierarchy. There would have been a ceremony and everything. Badge handing outs and flowers."

"We listen to you, Stiles when Derek isn't there. We refer to you because it's instinct. Derek asks for your opinion on matters concerning the Pack. I think it's why everyone got so sick, so quickly when you left."

"Are you listening to yourself right now?" He questioned, flailing slightly. "You're saying that Jackson and Lydia _willingly listen_ to me? Me, Stiles Stilinski?"

Scott chuckled and patted him on the back. "Bro, for someone as smart as you, you're pretty oblivious. We _all_ listen to you. Do you remember when we had that away game at St. Mary's and Jackson nearly sliced that guy on the other team? All you did was move to stand before him. You stood between a werewolf and their intended scratch post."

"I wasn't gonna let him out the Pack." Stiles murmured weakly, fidgeting. "It was a good thing he still had his helmet on or else everyone would have seen two glow sticks for eyes and bone crushing fangs."

He remembers that night quite vividly. The douche had seen Jackson and Lydia talking before she planted a kiss on his lips for good luck. He had walked passed them and loudly mentioned he was going to show Lydia a real good time after they won the game. It was safe to say, that several hackles were then standing on end. 

"And Lydia, do you honestly think that she’d let just about anyone tell her to shut up with just a glare in her direction?” Scott asked, raising his eyebrows. “Because that’s what you did when she made a comment about you acting like a mother, after we killed the Alpha Pack and your father showed up, remember?”

All Stiles could do was nod dumbly.

"That's why you're so important to us." His best friend murmured, stepping closer. “You’re not only our friend and our Pack mate, but you’re also someone we come to when Derek’s not there to guide us. You’re kinda like - you’re kinda like our Yoda.”

Stiles couldn’t help but snort and wrap an arm around Scott’s shoulders, bringing him into a one armed hug and grinning at the warm, fuzzy feelings in his chest. “You’re Yoda, I will be.”

Chris cleared his throat and Stiles didn’t bother in trying to hide his embarrassment, because this was just something that would happen in his life.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, as Derek’s Second, what do you want to do?” The Hunter asked, folding his arms across his chest.

He refused to scrub his face in frustration at the sudden appearance of weight on his shoulders. Ugh, responsibility. "Does he know how close you are to us?"

Chris shook his head. "I kept that to myself too."

Stiles hummed thoughtfully. “Well firstly, we need a perimeter set up, a safety house that everyone can stay at until they leave.” He took in a deep breathe, mind twisting and turning to think of a plan. “The Pack will be staying at mine. I don’t want anyone’s families getting caught in the crossfire.”

“Why yours?” Chris asked, moving to grab maps of what he assumed was Beacon Hills off a desk.

“Because they’re not going to attack the Sheriff’s house, no matter what. They don’t need that kind of heat and having newcomers come into town, it‘s gonna be suspicious." Stiles answered, watching Chris nod in agreement. “Besides, with dad in the know now, I’m gonna have him on the look out for any activity on Madison’s part, and it’ll look weird if he’s constantly going around someone’s house that isn’t his own.”

“What about them knowing everything about us?” Scott questioned, grimacing. “They have an advantage on us.”

“Not technically,” he replied, a grin forming on his face. “We use that against them. If they expect us to go through the backstreets, we’ll go through the main ones instead. We’ll do everything they don’t expect us to do.”

“And Derek?”

Stiles’ grin slipped from his face. “We gotta find him before they do.”

***

“Are you serious, Stilinski?” Jackson asked. He could feel the disapproving eyebrows coming from the end of the phone. “Don’t you think we’re a bit old now for slumber parties?”

Heaven help him.

“Look, it’s not safe for any of us to be by ourselves right now.” He answered, flicking Scott on the ear for gazing at Allison from across the room. He tapped at the map of the Preserve in front of them and nodded his head at it, getting a huff and rolling eyes in return. He flicked his ear harder. “They’ll pick us off one by one if we’re all not together.”

There was the sounds of a scuffle on the other end and then Jackson’s muffled complaints. “We’ll be there in an hour.” Lydia’s voice came through the receiver. “Do you want us to tell the others?”

Stiles shook his head despite Lydia not being able to see it. “No need. Isaac’s already at my house and Erica’s at the skate rink waiting for Boyd to finish work. They’ll come over after they pick his stuff up.”

“And Allison will ride with you and Scott?” She questioned.

He glanced over at the topic of their conversation and considered her as she spoke with her father. She wasn’t happy when she had found out that her father had gone behind her back, and it was obvious in the way her jaw ticked whenever she spoke. 

Stiles couldn't really fault the Hunter for what he did, that wasn't him saying he didn't, because he did. Chris pushing the Pack before his daughter was a low blow, but he understood. He just wanted to protect his daughter. Stiles didn't like it, but he understood. 

“No, she’ll stay with her father. These Hunters don’t know that Allison’s with us and I want to keep it that way as long as I can. She’s our wild card.”

Lydia made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. “My, Stiles. If only I knew how hot it was to listen to you strategise like this.”

He grinned over Jackson’s indulgent _hey_! “Keep it in your pants, Lyds. I’ll see you soon, okay? Call if anything happens.”

***

“It’s been four days, Stiles.” Boyd spoke, looking at him from his position on the couch. “We’re running out of time. The Hunters are probably driving around the streets right now.”

Everyone was sprawled around the living room, boxes of takeout spread out before them. They were all exhausted, smudges underneath their eyes and a few of them sporting dirt smeared cheeks from running around the Preserve all day, looking for Derek.

The first two days of them trying to find Derek, everyone had called him every hour, on the hour. Then it resorted to texts in between. Then it was having the wolves howl and if anything were to shatter his heart, it would be the broken and lost sounds of hearing Isaac calling for his Alpha, his calls going unanswered.

From there, Stiles had the Pack combing the woods, trying to pick up a scent or trail, hell, _anything_ for Derek, only to end up frustrated and drained.

For him, it wasn’t just hindrance clawing at his throat, it was also panic. What if Derek was dead? It would explain why he hasn’t answered any of their howls or calls. Derek was an asshole, but if one of them called, he always answered. _Always_.

“I know,” Stiles sighed, digging the palms of his hands in his eyes. “I don’t know what else to do. It’s like he doesn’t want to be found.”

“I don’t think we can go on much longer with the pain,” Lydia whispered, shuddering slightly into Jackson‘s ribs. She had been the recent victim of the excruciating convulsions that took over from being separated from Derek.

“We’ll find him, guys.” Scott soothed and he was forever grateful for his optimism, especially in shitty circumstances like this. Scott wrapped an arm around Lydia’s shoulders and brought her into his side. “We will.”

Stiles just wished he had the strength to believe him.

***

He could feel the day when Madison and his men arrived. The morning air was stilted, not a breeze in the wind and a sick feeling twisting in his stomach. He had woken up that same day, sandwiched between Isaac and Lydia, Erica in her usual spot on his chest and snuffling into his neck. 

He grimaced slightly and wriggled around, freeing his arm from Boyd's clutches and making a grab for his phone on the nightstand. Pressing redial, he held the phone to his ear and waited, letting out a sigh when the phone went straight to voicemail. Like it did before.

"Derek please, if you get this, come straight to my house. There's Hunters out for bloo-"

The phone line went dead and he was left staring at his screen, jaw ticked. He let out another sigh and tapped his forehead with the mobile in frustration. 

"Not picking up?"

Stiles startled and glanced down passed Erica's curls and into Jackson's sleepy eyes. 

He nodded, looking at the time and mentally counting how much sleep he just got. "Yeah, I'm gonna go out in the Preserve again and see if I can find him."

"You should let us go," Lydia slurred into his ribs.. "You didn't get back until four, it's seven now."

Boyd and Scott rolled off the bed, Allison - who has taken up sneaking in through the backdoor - snuggling closer to Isaac in her sleep to keep in the warmth. 

"We'll go," Boyd volunteered, already moving to the door and opening it. 

"We'll call in a few hours." Scott reassured, placed a kiss on Allison's forehead, before disappearing through the door with a flash of dimples. 

"I should go with them," Stiles murmured, moving to slip the she wolf off of him, only to end up locked in a vice like grip, arms and legs caging him in. 

"Sleep," Erica ordered, nipping him lightly on the jaw. "We'll find Derek before they do."

"Yeah, if he can hide from his own Pack, he'll have no problems hiding from them." Isaac mumbled, bitterness lacing his words. 

Running on instinct, Stiles reached out and brushed his fingers against the curve of his neck, feeling rather than seeing Isaac relax under his touch. 

Now that it had been brought up to him, he couldn't help but notice that his best friend was right. The way the wolves unconsciously followed his every movement, the constant need to touch him or listening with rapt attention when he spoke; it was insanely cool as it was disturbing. 

Cool because, well, no one besides his father and Scott had given any courtesy to stand there and listen to what he had to say, and even then, despite loving them both, that wasn't completely the case. There were painful times where Stiles had been brushed to the side, his words going unheard or simply ignored. 

Which brought up the equal parts of disturbance. Since no one actually cared for what tumbled from his mouth, it was weird to have people actively _want_ his opinions, to know what he thought of a situation. It's a definite change of pace from the usual game of Ignore Stiles. 

"No, we need to find him. You stay here, I'll go back to the house and see if he's there." Stiles spoke, rolling over and dismounting Erica from his person, shucking her under the chin gently, when she pouted. "I'll come straight back after."

He climbed over Allison and Isaac, pulled on a sweatshirt that smelt like Jackson's, but was actually Scott's and shoved his feet into his sneakers.

Strawberry blonde curls tumbled over his shoulder as Lydia leant on him, nose tucked under his ear. She nuzzled him softly, breathe fanning against his skin as she whispered, "You okay?"

Stiles exhaled and shook his head. "I just have a really horrible feeling, like something bad's gonna happen. I don't like not knowing where he is."

"Don't worry, it'll be fine." Lydia soothed, smiling gently. "Besides, if anyone can bring Derek back to us, it's you."

He didn't wholeheartedly believe her, because this whole clusterfuck was his fault, but he nodded with a soft smile, leant down and placed a kiss on her forehead. 

"Sleep," he murmured, nudging her back onto the mattress. "I'll call you when I'm on my way back."

"You want me to come with you?" Jackson asked, already moving to get up. 

"No, no. It's fine." Stiles said, snagging his keys and phone. "I'll be back soon. I'll call if I find him."

***

Erica snuggled further into the blankets surrounding her, chasing the sleep she could feel slipping through her fingers and completely failing. Lydia threw a limp arm over her waist as Isaac squirmed further into her side, Allison and Jackson somewhere to the left of her, breathing evenly as they slept.

Erica groaned softly when she realised what had woken her up, the sounds of the Pack’s phones vibrating at the same time. She had a second to curse the fucking devices from Hell before she realised that _everyone’s_ phones were vibrating. And that meant one of two things; Derek had been found or, something terrible happened.

Flinging herself out of the pile and onto her feet, she made a grab for the nearest phone, noting that it was Isaac’s and quickly typing in his password before pulling up the latest text.

Stiles; _Bumped into Hunters on way to Derek‘s_

_Most likely know who I am_

_Two black SUVS unmarked_

_Five of them, think Madison isn’t one of them_

“Get up!” Erica growled, whirling around and throwing the nearest item, which happened to be Jackson’s shoe, at the bed.

“What’s going on?” Allison asked, head popping up, sleep tousled hair fanning around her cheeks.

“Madison’s here,” she answered, scrambling to pull on her jeans. “Stiles thinks he bumped into Madison’s men on the way to Derek’s. We gotta go and help him.”

“Fuck,” Allison barked, jumping up and getting dressed too, Lydia and Isaac following suit.

Jackson didn’t bother grabbing a shirt or his shoes, just leapt through the window, eyes already glowing molten and a howl tearing through dropped fangs, echoing in the morning light. Erica could hear Scott and Boyd’s answering call from the Preserve.

She watched as Lydia and Isaac ran through the bedroom door, turning to face Allison yanking her phone off of the charger and shoving it in her back pocket. “You can’t come, Ally. You have to stay out of the picture like Stiles said.”

“I know.“ The Huntress nodded, though she was gritting her teeth. “I’ll go through the back door and into the woods. Call me as soon as possible. If they’ve touched him, I want to know.”

Erica nodded, wrapping her fingers in Allison’s and giving it a squeeze before jumping out of the window herself.

***

Predictably, Stiles didn't find Derek. What he found instead were two SUV cars parked half a mile down the road from the house, five men standing in the middle of the road, forced smiles on playing on their faces. 

Stiles swallowed the panic rising in his throat, slowed the jeep to a halt and slowly reached for the gun taped under his car seat before tucking it in the waistband of his jeans. He then grabbed his phone and pulled up the Pack's group list on his phone and began typing on the keypad.

"Having car troubles?" He asked, when a black haired man walked over to his window. He hoped that he couldn't see his phone. 

The man chuckled and scratched his chin with his thumb. He glanced up from under his lashes, blue eyes glinting. "You could say that. Mind jumping out and giving us a hand?"

"I actually know nothing about cars," Stiles answered, smiling sweetly. "I was visiting my friend, he's the one that lives on this road that takes care of Betsy, here." He tapped the steering wheel for emphasis. 

The blue eyed man nodded, "We were on our way back from there, but he isn’t home. You know where he might have gone?”

He shook his head, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he pretended to think about it. “Nope, no idea. Might as well turn back then, huh? I can call for someone to come help you out though.”

Stiles stiffened when he heard the familiar sounds of a gun being cocked. “That isn’t necessary, but what you can do is drop the phone and step out of the car.”

Fuck.

Obeying, he dropped his phone with a loud clatter and slide easily out of the driver’s seat, glaring when the man yanked him forward.

“Check him.” He ordered to one of his men, keeping a firm grip around his arm.

Jaw clenched, he stayed perfectly still as a red haired man stepped up towards him, hands roughly patting down his ribs and down to his thighs. Stiles waited for the right moment to strike and when he was crouched before him, he moved.

Slamming the arm still clenched in Blue Eyes’ grip into his chest, hitting him directly in the solar plexus and hearing a gust of air exit his lips. Before the man crouched before him could surge towards him, Stiles brought his knee up, feeling the soft bone of his nose give way under the impact.

Stumbling slightly, he made a grab for the gun tucked in the waist band of his jeans and went to fire at the other remaining three Hunters, but ended up sprawled across the road instead, searing pain erupting at the side of his head.

His vision went foggy around the edges, only clearing up to see the butt of a shot gun swinging towards his face, and then it was darkness.


	11. Chapter Eleven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The person rose with a chuckle, and stepped into the limited light shining from above their heads, "I was told you'd have a smart mouth. Don't push me into cutting your tongue out."
> 
> He wisely kept his mouth shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh. I'm so sorry but this chapter, man. It nearly drove me insane. I know I could have done so much better than this, but I needed to get it done before I pulled at my hair in frustration. Hence the long gap of procrastination between this chapter and the last. Bleh. 
> 
> Sorry if there's any mistakes, lovelies! I'll come back and fix them when I've gotten over my emotional turmoil of season 3. 
> 
> If anyone wants to come cry with me over the injustice of Teen Wolf and Dylan O'Brien, click [here](http://hale-the-majesty.tumblr.com) It's not extravagant like others, but I get great fics and gifs. Who am I to complain?
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting your thoughts! You're all beautiful and I love you!

"What do you mean Stiles is gone?" He growled. 

John could hear Isaac swallow over the phone and took in a calming breathe, remembering the boy he saw with a black eye in the cemetery that day, Lydia had gone missing. Feeling guilty, he shoved the panic pressing against his ribs down and exhaled. 

"I'm sorry Isaac," he apologised, scrubbing his hand over his face. "I didn't mean to snap at you. What happened?"

"I think you should come home, Sheriff." Was his reply, voice still tentative. "It's best if we speak face to face."

The implied _just in case someone is listening in_ was clear enough for John. 

"I'll be there in ten." He answered, already moving to put his jacket on. 

***

Letting out a low groan, Stiles shifted slightly, the sounds of chains dragging against a solid surface echoing around him. 

He blinked away the fuzziness in his vision, taking in the room he was in and trying to stop the fear clawing its way up his throat, when he realised he was strung up to the wall. Breathing in evenly, he pulled against the cuffs around each wrist. 

"That's not gonna happen, darling." A voice cooed. "Only way you're getting out of that, is by me letting you out."

Stiles whipped his head around, just noticing the person sitting on a chair in the far left corner, nearly hidden completely by darkness. "I've gotta say, as a growing male teenager, never in my life would I have thought BDSM was something of a kink of mine. I'm happy to say I was right." He tugged on the chains for emphasis. 

The person rose with a chuckle, and stepped into the limited light shining from above their heads, "I was told you'd have a smart mouth. Don't push me into cutting your tongue out."

He wisely kept his mouth shut. 

A woman now faced him, dark brown, almost black eyes glinting meticulously at him. Brunette hair framed her tanned cheeks and if it weren't for the way her head was tilted slightly to the right, the strands would have hidden the identical four scars running down her cheek and jawline. 

He watched her as she eyed him, gaze sliding over his skin, mouth slowly twisting into a smirk as she finally reached his sneakers. 

Stiles suddenly had a flashback of a training session with Derek he had once, when the Pack was first established and he wanted to learn how to defend himself. 

" _There's one thing you should never doubt_." Derek had murmured, running a palm along the line of his spine, pressing down and straightening the slight hunch of his back. " _Werewolves and Hunters think alike. They calculate their opponents, categorise them into one of two things. What are they_?"

" _Predator and prey_ ," he answered after a few moments he took to think, fixing his stance where Derek tapped with gentle fingertips. 

" _Yes, that's right. What happens if they put you in the category of prey instead of predator_?" Was his next hushed question, warm breathe fanning down the nape of his neck. 

" _They kill_."

Knowing that this woman was nothing but a predator, he lifted his chin up defiantly and gave her a levelled glare. 

"Look, if we can hurry this up, that'd be fantastic. People to see, places to be. You know, the life of the well known Sheriff's son."

She grinned and Stiles barely managed not to shiver at how deranged it looked. "Sheriff's son, huh? You think that scares me?"

"Does it?" He challenged, leaning his head against the wall and raising a single eyebrow. 

The woman standing in front of him paused before letting out a delighted laugh. "I like you, Stiles. You've got balls. It's nice to know that someone's raising their son into a man and not some pussy. Kinda makes me sick, when I see the next generation of men. Nothing like how their fathers were raised."

"And I'm assuming your father raised you like the son he never got." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. 

"Ooh, you're good." She laughed again, amused. Walking over, she grabbed the chair before setting it directly before him. She turned it around before sliding onto it, chin pillowed on her arms placed on the back of the chair. "Perks of being the Sheriff's son, I imagine. What gave me away?"

"I know female Hunters don't mind getting their hands dirty, but you seem like the type of woman that goes that extra mile. Only women that have had a male influence all their lives, are that hard around the edges." He answered, a smile quirking the side of his mouth. 

The woman sighed and looked at him fondly. "You'd make one hell of a Hunter, Stiles. I'd love to have you in my ranks."

So just like the Argents, women were the leaders. That was nice to know, given the fact that they were gearing up to fight Josh Madison, and not what was clearly his daughter. He thinks so anyway. 

"Yeah, there's one thing wrong with that offer." He mock pouted. "I don't associate with killers."

Her next sigh was exasperated and followed by a hard eye roll. "Not all of us Hunters are killers, you know."

"Funny, I could say the same about werewolves."

In a blink of an eye, she moved and suddenly he couldn't breathe, the chair's spine shoved against his throat and tilting his head up. He struggled against the pressure, heart rate thunderous as his sneakers scrapped against the floor, arms still chained to the wall.

"See, the thing with you sympathisers is, is that you're blinded to what those things really are. They aren't who they were before they were bitten. They're killing, mindless beasts in need of being put down." She murmured, nose brushing against his cheek. More pressure was applied to his throat and his struggles renewed as he fought against the urge to pass out. 

"Speaking... from... experience?" Stiles gasped, gesturing to her face. 

She shrugged, picking imaginary lint from her jacket sleeve. "My once best friend decided to leave me a parting gift before I cut her and her family in half."

The Huntress moved then, taking the chair with her and ignoring the way he gasped and wheezed for air. 

"And you expect me to believe you're not a killer." Stiles finally spluttered, voice scratchy. 

She let out another peal of laughter and like the first time, it sounded just as cynical. "I'm every bit of a killer, especially when it comes to those monsters and anyone who sees fit, to run with them. I gotta admit though Stiles, you're not what I thought a non-wolf Second would be. All lean muscle and doe eyes. Not very dangerous, if you ask me."

"Let me go and I'll change your mind." He snapped, glaring. 

"Darling, I eat boys like you for breakfast." She winked at him before turning on her heels, disappearing through a door that literally felt like it had materialised out of nowhere. 

In her wake, three men walked in, one of them Stiles recognising easily due to the medical tape stretched over the bridge of his nose.

"Back for a second round?" He asked, smiling up at him. 

He was given a swift kick in the ribs. 

"If you weren't so fucking important, I'd snap your neck." He growled, yanking him to his feet. 

"Oh, I bet you say that to all the boys." Stiles gritted out, grinning. 

This time, it was a hard punch to the jaw, one that made his teeth clack forcefully and pain bloom on the side of his face. 

"Hurry up and unchain him," he heard the female Huntress's call, "Our guest will be arriving soon and there's a lot to discuss."

Stiles couldn't help but shiver at the grins that played on their faces, a sense of dread pooling at the pit of his stomach. This was not going to end well. 

***

"Mind telling me what happened out there?"

He wasn't going to panic, he wasn't. John just couldn't lose the one important thing left in his life. 

He had walked into his kitchen, dining room table surrounded by fidgety werewolves, looking a lot worse for wear, Erica instantly moving towards him, tucking herself by his side and arms wrapped loosely around his torso. 

She'd been doing that lately whenever Stiles wasn't around the house. Just crowding in and pressing her nose into his chest. At first, he'd been a little surprised and a whole lot uncomfortable with having her do that but now, it was automatic to just wind an arm around her shoulders and squeeze tightly. 

" _Scent marking, Dad._ " His son had explained again one night. " _It's a powerful thing to werewolves. Not only comforts them but reassures as well_."

"Stiles went to Derek's house looking for him," Scott explained, with a grimace, bringing him out of his inner thoughts. "He was ambushed by Madison's men before he reached it."

"He managed to text us," Boyd continues, looking at the Sheriff warily. "By the time Scott and I got to where the jeep was abandoned, he was gone. His phone was there so we can't track it or him. They've hidden his scent with something. We can't sniff him out."

"Any blood?" He asked, heart lodged in his throat. 

Isaac winced slightly at him. "There was some, but we think it was from one of the Hunters. Stiles doesn't like going down without taking someone with him."

And wasn't that a morbid thing to hear? To hear that your seventeen year old son, could _take_ someone down with him in a fight. 

It's not like he hasn't seen Stiles fight, because he has. He's watched him fight the wolves in the clearing passed the backyard fence, mock rumbles and snarls echoing around him as he dodged attacks without breaking a sweat. 

John nearly had a heart attack when in a blink of an eye, Boyd who had been by his side, had launched himself and pounced on Stiles with a growl, their bodies colliding with a thud, before they went tumbling down to the ground in a ball of limbs.

That wasn't what had his heart seizing in his chest though. It was the way his son had easily flipped them around, Stiles pressing a blade John knew wasn't there beforehand, against the hollow of the boy's throat, Boyd instantly moving his head to bare more of it. 

John wasn't stupid. He knew all about submission in the animal kingdom and that right there, was the crème de la crème of submission. 

He didn't know much about what happened in wolf Packs, let alone a Pack of _werewolves_ , but he figured Stiles had to have a solid place within the group, if he was able to get them to submit so easily like that. 

And God. The way he had moved. With such an effortless grace and natural fluidity, it was almost a shock to the system to realise this was _his son_ , a person who had tripped over his own two feet, half an hour earlier in his excitement for pancakes. 

"Alright, that's okay. I can work with that." John muttered, trying to ease the building tension between his shoulder blades. "Do we have any idea what we're up against?"

"No, but I'll be finding out soon." A voice spoke from behind him. 

He whipped around, coming face to face with Allison, dressed in all black, crossbow in hand and knives lining her body from collarbones to ankles. 

He glanced around, wondering how she had managed to sneak up on some werewolves without them noticing. John took in the sheepish looks and figured, he wasn't the only one asking the same question. 

"What do you mean?"Scott asked, moving to greet his girlfriend.

"Madison called, she wants a meeting to discuss what to do with the Hale Pack member she's caught." She replied, accepting the brief press of lips against hers before walking to stand by John and Erica. 

It was silent for a second before the Sheriff shook his head. "I was under the impression Madison was a man."

She looked up at him grimly. "Ella Madison is the head of the Madison family, as my father and I have just recently discovered. Her father was the one mine had been speaking to up until now. She's calling the shots and is apparently more dangerous than any man before her." 

He heard Erica mutter, "Well, isn't that just fan-fucking-tastic." He shared her sentiments. 

"You're not going alone, are you?" Scott murmured, worry lacing his words. 

She nodded her head. "Dad's not coming with me, I was requested only." Allison explained, frowning. "The meeting's at the abandoned sublet behind the building where the rave was held."

"We should follow." Lydia demanded, glancing around her, taking in the nods of agreement from the wolves. 

"No, I don't want you anywhere near them." John ordered, folding his arms over his chest, fighting against the urge to order Allison into doing the same. It would only be a losing battle on his behalf. "They've already got Stiles, I can't risk putting any more lives in danger."

"You can't go by yourself -" Scott started. 

"I'll be fine," Allison reassured, smiling as Erica grasped her hand and Scott sighed with a clenched jaw. They stared at one another, eyes silently communicating before she too sighed. "I'll call as soon as I'm out of hearing distance, Scott and then we'll get Stiles."

John watched on as they spoke quickly about their plans to rescue his son, a sense of bewildering anxiety whirling in his stomach. 

They weren't ready for something like this in his eyes, they were still the same kids Stiles had spoken about - with the exceptions of Allison, Isaac Erica and Boyd - everyday after school when he was six. 

How cool it was that Scott shared his pudding with him while talking animatedly about the new Wolverine comics he'd just bought, - the irony wasn't lost on John - how Lydia was perfect and that they were going to get married and have mud pies for dinner everyday. And the sudden rivalry between Stiles and Jackson for Lydia's affections. 

Now though, it was different. There were glimpses of the man that Stiles was becoming; the way he held himself and spoke when explaining what everyone had to do. In the way he was using all of the resources to the best of their ability; that being John's place in the law enforcement, the wolves heightened senses and his connection to Chris Argent. 

It was a little overwhelming to watch. 

Erica pulled away, startling him into the present as she shook her head, " - expect us to come in from the front or back entrances." She argued, stepping towards the others at the table. "We should just make our own or flush them out."

She and Lydia shared a grin. 

"Molotov Cocktails?" The latter asked. 

John glanced around the table, a contemplating frown pulling at his mouth. Maybe they were ready for something like this and _he_ was the one that wasn't. 

They definitely weren't kids anymore, and there wasn't what he thought were glimpses of Stiles becoming a man because, well, he already was one. 

***

The room he was dragged to was damp, smelt like rusted metal and Stiles could hear rats and mice scurrying about above his head. 

These Hunters sure knew how to pick 'em, that's for damn sure. 

Several heads spun around at his arrival, one of the people standing before him sticking out like a sore thumb. It was silent in the large room though, as said person raked their gaze from the tips of his hair down to his toes. 

"He can't be Hale's Second, Ella." Allison snorted, rolling her eyes and pinning the other Huntress with a disbelieving look. "I go to school with this guy and I've seen the Second in action. Stiles falls down the same set of stairs every day after school, while Hale's Second slashed my father's tires four months ago in broad daylight, while he was _still_ in it." She gestured towards him. "He's useless."

Stiles tried not to laugh because technically, he's done both stair falling and tire slashing. The former being gravity and stairs aren't his friends and the latter being, Chris Argent turning into a douche towards Scott when he wasn't happy.

Granted that he wasn't happy, when finding Scott in his daughter's room at two thirty in the morning on a school night, but it was the principle. Best friends stick up for best friends no matter what. 

Facing Allison and ever thankful that these Hunters couldn't hear the staccato beat of his heart rate, he raised an eyebrow. "I remember your crazy grandfather saying the same thing, and look where that led him."

His words had the desired affect, Allison's eyes narrowing dangerously as she grinned sharply. 

It took all of him not to rush forward and apologise for goading her, especially with a subject such as her family, but if they wanted to prove that she was the heartless Huntress she was supposedly trained to be, limits and boundaries were going to be pushed. 

They both knew it, despised the idea of attacking each other's weak points, but they knew it. They understood it. 

"You don't know what you're talking about." She snapped, still glaring. 

His mouth quirked into a smile. "Oh, but I do. He underestimated my Pack, just like you two are. And now you're gonna die because of your mistakes."

"What makes you think you won't be the one dying?" Allison retorted, moving towards him. 

Stiles grinned at her, teeth bared in a silent snarl. "Like you said, you've seen what I can do. Don't be like Grandpa Gerard and think I can't kick your ass."

He saw the way Allison positioned herself, knew that she was readying herself to throw a punch in his direction. He steeled his body, fighting against the urge to block it with a quick jab to the ribs. 

"From what I recall my grandfather telling me," Allison replied, pulling her fist back and throwing it towards his face. "Was that you couldn't even kick his ass. And he was a sixty eight year old man with cancer." 

Gritting his teeth at both the words and punch, Stiles went with the hit, stumbling slightly to the left and into the man, that had dragged him here in the first place. He was then shoved forward and to his knees, arms pulled tightly behind his back in an unyielding grip. 

Glancing up over his shoulder, he chuckled at Allison, tongue swiping out to lick away the blood from the corner of his mouth. "That all you got, Argent?"

There was sudden pressure to his left shoulder as his arm was jerked up, then there was pain exploding from the joint and down to his fingertips. 

"Don't push me," she snarled through clenched teeth, though Stiles could feel her hesitating, the hold she had around his wrist at half strength. 

Someone clapped before him and his head shot up at the sound, coming face to face with Ella. 

"Did you guys ever think of doing drama in school, because that performance was almost believable." The Huntress nodded to someone behind him and the next thing he knew, Allison was on the ground beside him, a groan escaping when her head slammed heavily against the concrete beneath them. 

Stiles jerked towards her, only just realising what he was doing at the last moment and clenching his jaw tightly. 

"Disarm her," Ella ordered, "Check for everything too. Argents have an uncanny love for hiding weapons in odd places."

Allison struggled slightly against the man holding her down with a boot to the back of her throat, while another patted her down, throwing the crossbow and an array of silver daggers and blades across the floor. The bow stopping a few metres away from him. 

"What the fuck is going on?" The Huntress beside him, snapped. 

Ella raised an eyebrow, a chuckle escaping as she nodded again, this time both he and Allison being pulled to their feet, Stiles cradling his left arm in the crook of his other. 

"Did you really think we didn't know you're _both_ in the Hale Pack?"

Stiles' heart stopped. He swallowed as he glanced over to Allison, noticing how she automatically shifted slightly to stand behind his left shoulder, now that the secret was out.

"You would have fooled us too, Allison." She said, looking impressed. "Hitting him around like that, but there's something you don't realise. When a human runs with wolves, they pick up on their behaviour, their characteristics. Scent marking, body posture. Even their vocal sounds. Howls, little grating noises that they think pass as growls and pathetic whimpers at the back of their throats."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her in confusion but didn't move, didn't even blink, when Ella stepped up into his personal space, nose barely touching his and gazes locked. 

"She was whining, like a dying bitch that got hit by a car." The Huntress whispered. "And when I'm done with you two, your little puppies will be too."

He couldn't help but smile. "If that's supposed to scare us, than you have another thing coming."

Before she could reply, Stiles pulled his head back and threw it forward, his forehead smacking Ella in the face, a satisfying thwack echoing in his ears. 

Body dropping low to leg swipe her ankles, he grabbed at Allison's discarded crossbow, looped it around the woman's neck and pulled on the metal length against her throat, hissing at the pain that shot down to his left arm. 

Allison had moved from behind him the second he had, going straight for the red haired man with two identical blades, one in each hand. She dodged punches and kicks easily, slowly but efficiently, striking him with the serrated notches and breaking the skin. In the next second though, he was on the ground, body limp, three other Hunters taking his place. 

Stiles grunted out in pain when Ella managed to slip the crossbow off her neck and slam an elbow into his chest, the breathe knocking out of his lungs from the force. 

They both rolled to their feet though despite gasping for breathe, she now sporting a purple bruise across her throat and him still holding his arm. 

Stiles could hear Allison fighting at his back, her grunts of pain telling him she was losing. He moved to turn and assist her, but was knocked down from behind before he had even shifted, pain blooming at the back of is skull. 

"Enough," a terse voice rasped. 

Ignoring it, he scrambled towards Allison, she reaching out for him as well, her body instinctively moving to stand by his side. 

He watched an older man step out of the darkness he had his back to, weight leaning heavily on a cane in his right hand and the other held out towards Ella. 

She moved immediately to his side, helping the man walk forward. Due to the light, all he could see was a balding head and dark eyes, skin withered from age and multiple scars. He looked like an old man you'd see on the street, but Stiles wasn't fooled. He could still do damage if he wanted to, just like Gerard could. 

When he finally came to a stop standing before him, he could see the similarities between them; the same eyes, straight nose and chin. 

The similarities between father and daughter. 

Right before Stiles, Josh Madison pulled the cane up wicked fast, and backhanded Ella across the face with it, she going with the force of the blow, her head snapping sharply to the left. 

"Next time you'll listen to what I have to say, won't you?" The father growled, using the cane to pull her gaze back to his. "Don't think just because I've given you my position, that I won't take it back and give it to someone better made for it. Understood?"

Stiles watched on as Ella licked at her busted lip, jaw clenched tightly. "Yes, father."

"Now, throw these two into the downstairs room," Josh ordered, shoving her away with his cane. "I wanna have a chat with Chris, seems like he's changed alliances since the last time we've meet."

Allison shifted forward from beside him, "You think of even touching him, I'll -" 

She couldn't even finish the threat before one of the men closest to her, moved to block her with another jab. Stiles darted forward, grabbing the man's wrist with his right hand and using his left forearm to shove up against the underside of his elbow, the sounds of bone snapping reaching his ears. As he's done that, Allison's kicked her leg out, booted foot catching the man's patella with enough force to send him to the floor. 

He slid in front of Allison when the guy screamed out in pain, stance ready for another round. 

What he got in return were four guns pointing in his direction. He held his hands up in surrender, though he raised an eyebrow at Ella. "Change your mind yet?"

The Huntress glared. 

"Get them down there, now!" She snapped, voice still rough from him trying to strangle her. She turned to a dark skinned man that was headed towards them, shot gun raised. "If they're alive by tomorrow, I want you to shoot them in the head, got it?"

He nodded with a grin. "With pleasure."

***

Allison kept an arm wrapped around Stiles' waist, whether to hold him up or herself, she didn't know. 

They both walked in silence, the nose of a gun burning through the material of her shirt. If she wasn't sure the guy would shoot first at the slightest movement, she would've been tempted to turn around and snap his neck in half. 

She glared as they laughed in their faces, called them 'kids sitting at the adult's table, trying to blend in' before slamming a solid steel door behind them, their laughter still echoing through. 

They were left in silence, still facing the door, minds going into overdrive of what's going to happen next.

"Stiles?" Allison finally whispered, turning around and finding Stiles bent over. Shaky hands cupped his cheeks and turned his eyes to meet hers. "Are you alright? I didn't break any thing -"

He held up a hand, stopping her from finishing her questions as he slid his left arm between his knees. She watched him take a few deep breathes in, before shoving at his left shoulder, the both of them wincing when hearing the joint pop back into place. 

Panting, he glanced up at Allison, eyes running down the length of her and nodding, when finding nothing broken or any skin open. Stiles stood to his full height and rolled his shoulder a few times. "I am now."

She couldn't help but smile weakly at him, rushing forward to wrap him up into a tight hug. 

"You idiot, I could have seriously hurt you." She scowled at him, nose instantly burying into his neck. 

"It's alright," he soothed, hugging her back, chin resting on her head. "You hit like a girl anyway."

A low growl sounded from behind him, interrupting Allison's laugh and response. She tensed just as Stiles did, whirling around to a pair of glowing eyes, peering from behind a blanket of darkness.

Familiar _crimson_ eyes. 

Stiles pulled away and took a hesitant step forward. "Derek?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The question of "WHERE THE HELL IS DEREK?!" has now been answered. :D


	12. Chapter Twelve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd can't imagine what the man's going through, having his son kidnapped after only a few short weeks of finding out werewolves existed. He doesn't know much about what had happened to Stiles' mother but, he does know that the resulting death has made the two Stilinski men closer up until three years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. AM. SO. SORRY!
> 
> Seriously. I can't apologise enough for the long wait, but when I say this chapter killed me, I truly mean it. But hopefully this makes up for it now that I know where I'm going with this. I've already got the next chapter plotted out so hopefully there's not a long wait for that. 
> 
> Thank you to all those that have messaged me and taken the time to read this, I love you!
> 
>  
> 
> [COME PLAY WITH ME ON TUMBLR!](http://hale-the-majesty.tumblr.com)
> 
> Sorry if there's any mistakes, I'm literally posting this after finishing it, so I'll come back later and edit this. But yeah. ENJOY! :)

Boyd paces back and forth in the lounge room of the Stilinski household, bottom lip trapped between his teeth and a steadily rising rumble in his chest. 

He ignores the way Erica's eyes seem to track his movements from left to right, also ignores the way the Pack is just as restless as he is, waiting for Allison's signal.

Isaac is trying and failing in distracting Scott from the current situation at hand on the couch. Jackson has Lydia on his lap in front Isaac's legs, nose buried in her hair as she slowly corrects the Archaic Latin bestiary and the Sheriff. Well, the Sheriff is doing as well as expected; not good.There's a furrow between his eyebrows, his lips pulled down into a hard frown and his heart is pounding fast in his chest. 

Boyd can't imagine what the man's going through, having his son kidnapped after only a few short weeks of finding out werewolves existed. He doesn't know much about what had happened to Stiles' mother but, he does know that the resulting death has made the two Stilinski men closer up until three years ago. 

He wants to soothe the older man's worries but despite him being Pack, he's not sure how to approach the Sheriff. Should he give Mr. Stilinski false words of encouragement or should he reassure him the way his instincts want him to; by touch?

He sighs, shakes his head and continues to pace. 

Everything in Boyd is screaming at him to tear Beacon Hills apart for Derek, to run havoc on the people that have Stiles against his will, to hurt those that have hurt what is his. To do anything to make their Pack whole again. 

As if to prove a point, a high pitched whimper sounds from behind him and he turns, finds Erica's body begin to tremble, eyes flashing gold and fangs dropped. 

He's the first one to move, grabs at the first item of clothing he sees and loops an arm around her shoulders, pushes the v-neck under Erica's nose and tells her, "Breathe in. Take a deep breathe in."

When Derek had disappeared and the pain of having him gone had begun, Stiles raided his closet and stole anything and everything with the Alpha's scent on it, kept them in separate sealed bags until the last piece of clothing had began to smell like the entire Pack more so than usual. 

It wasn't much, but with what they were given, it had to do. 

Despite this being the last of Derek's clothes and the scent of the Pack stronger than his, Erica buries her nose into the material gratefully, wraps her fingers around Boyd's wrist and clenches periodically when her body shudders. 

Boyd can hear the Pack whine behind him, hears Isaac the most as he fights against pushing passed and surrounding Erica like a blanket. He knows, just like everyone, that they can't overwhelm her in this state in case she lashes out and claws someone. 

The worry though, triples as she doesn't come down from the spasms. 

"Why isn't it stopping?" Lydia snaps, moving closer, only pausing when he bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl. 

"She's having a seizure." Scott answers, words muffled from the mouthful of fangs. 

Boyd clutches at her more tightly. 

"Let her go, son." A voice orders. 

He turns, sees the Sheriff standing beside Lydia and Jackson, the blonde crouched protectively in front of them and he only realises then, that he isn't actually silent, he's hunched over Erica and growling. 

At them. At his Pack. 

He forces his muscles to unlock, slowly let's go of her and slides away, watches as the Sheriff steps forward when he's at a distance from the couch. Scott and Isaac wrap their arms around him, keeps him pinned to their sides as the older man sits beside his trembling girlfriend. 

"Come on, Erica." He whispers, grabbing her wrists in one hand - not at all bothered by the claws or supernatural strength - and the other cupping her cheek gently. "You're _not_ having a seizure, not while I'm around. It's just the shakes. It'll stop soon."

It takes minutes for Erica to stop shaking but Boyd can tell the difference already, can see it. The second that the Sheriff was close enough to smell, she had calmed down a little, whether from it being Stiles' father and therefore having a similar scent as his son, or having a calming presence there or even a combination of both, Erica calms down soon enough. 

She takes the glass of water from Jackson with a brittle smile and a shaky voice. "Thanks."

"You okay?" The Sheriff asks, moving away to allow the Pack to blanket themselves over one another. 

She nods, smile stronger now as Scott buries his way under her chin. "I can see where Stiles gets it from."

Boyd's chest restricts at the tight smile Erica receives from him, "We'll get him back soon, Sheriff. I promise."

Before the older man can reply, he and the rest of the wolves begin to growl at the steady heartbeat heading towards the front door. 

Whoever owns it, doesn't bother in knocking, just walks right in like it's their home and Lydia, who's closest to the entryway, tenses at the end of the couch, body poised and ready to spring. 

Scott's the first to stop growling, jumping up from his spot and running to the front door, the Sheriff and the Pack hot on his heels. 

"We've got another problem," Chris Argent announces as they slide to a stop before him, jaw clenched. "They know we're working together."

Before anyone can ask how, the Hunter holds up his phone and presses play on a voice recording. 

" _Disarm her_ ," A husky female voice ordered, " _Check for everything too. Argents have an uncanny love for hiding weapons in odd places_."

" _What the fuck is going on_?" Allison's voice snaps.

Boyd sees Scott tense. 

A chuckle was heard and then the first woman replies," _Did you really think we didn't know you're_ both _in the Hale Pack _?"__

At that, everyone stiffens, including the Sheriff.

_"You would have fooled us too, Allison._ " The voice continues, somehow getting closer to the recorder. " _Hitting him around like that, but there's something you don't realise. When a human runs with wolves, they pick up on their behaviour, their characteristics. Scent marking, body posture. Even their vocal sounds. Howls, little grating noises that they think pass as growls and pathetic whimpers at the back of their throats. She was whining, like a dying bitch that got hit by a car_." The other Huntress whispered. " _And when I'm done with you two, your little puppies will be too."_

It's Stiles Boyd hears next and just by hearing him alone, he knows Stiles is grinning that smile that the werewolf has seen even Hunters flinch at. " _If that's supposed to scare us, than you have another thing coming."_

Then there's the sounds of a fight breaking out.

"That's how I know." Chris finally answers, the recording finally stopping. "We've been played, now they have my daughter and the only communication that I have on her is out of range."

__"Is there any way she can get it back in range?" Lydia asked, glancing at Jackson. "Because we know someone who can track it."_ _

__The older Hunter shakes his head. "She doesn't know it's there. It was sewn into her jacket when she was... Rebellious." Scott carefully keeps his gaze connected to the door behind him. "If she can get a signal though, you'll be the first to know."_ _

__"Allison said where the meeting was being held," the Sheriff speaks up, eyebrows furrowed. "Why would you need to trace the device?"_ _

__"I couldn't get close enough, not without broadcasting my position, hence the reason why the device was switched on." Chris explains, looking frustrated. "They have a huge party of men, Sheriff and they could have easily moved Stiles and Allison from the meeting place and to another location without me knowing. That's why I'm here."_ _

__"Get Danny on the phone, Jackson." Lydia says before anyone can talk, "Looks like he's finally gonna find out about the Pack."_ _

__***_ _

__"Lydia, you know I mean this in the most respectable way, but I think what happened to you two years ago, has kind of twisted your reality." Danny slowly says, eyebrows furrowed. He turns to Jackson, a frown tugging hard at his lips. "And you shouldn't be indulging her. You should be helping her."_ _

__"But it's the truth, Danny!" Scott claims, eyes wide and earnest. "We're not lying, we _are_ in a wolf Pack and we don't have much time."_ _

__Danny wants to throttle him. "Look, it's a little too late for April's fools and a little too early for Halloween, so cut the shit." He snaps, finally fed up with everything. "I'm not spending my school break, playing hide and seek with you guys and looking for Allison and Stiles. I'm going home."_ _

__There's the sounds of shouting from downstairs, then feet hitting the staircase and leading to Stiles' room. Where Lydia, Jackson and Scott tried to explain to him that werewolves existed and that a bunch of Hunters had abducted Stiles and Allison._ _

__Jesus Christ. He needed new friends._ _

__Ones that hadn't been in hospital from some psychopath biting her, been locked in the back of a police unit, taken off in some Romeo & Juliet love story only to come back, accused of killing their own father and one that goes around sniffing guys' aftershave. _ _

And wow. He _definitely_ needed new friends. 

__The bedroom door's tossed open and there stands Erica, eyes narrowed and teeth bared._ _

"Listen here Danny boy, because I'm only going to tell you once," she orders, stepping further into the room, Boyd and Isaac following closely behind. "When we say we're werewolves, we're not lying. When we say we need you to track something to save our Pack mates' lives, you can bet on your fucking dimples, _we're not lying._ So be a dear, park your ass by that computer and. Help. Us."

Danny's mouth drops open as Erica's eyes begin to glow molten and fangs slide passed ruby red lips. A deep rumble echoes in her chest and he can _feel_ it through the soles of his sneakers.

__Heart feeling like it's going to beat right out of his own chest, he flings his body back and finds himself plastered against the wall, hands held up before him. As if that could stop whatever the fuck was happening. "I - you really are werewolves?"_ _

__"We were trying for calm and classy, Erica." Lydia says unimpressed, arms folded across her chest and her own green eyes glowing._ _

__And what the fuck?_ _

__"We don't have time for classy." She snaps, glaring over at the red head. She turns back to face Danny, eyes and thankfully teeth returning back to normal. "It's a lot to take in, we know that. But Stiles and Allison are in danger and we need your help in saving them. If and when we get a signal on this device, can you track it?"_ _

__Danny shakily glances at the Sheriff, who had followed silently behind Isaac, eyes questioning._ _

__"I just want my kid back and Allison safe, son." He soothes, with a granting nod. "Do what you have to do, to get that done."_ _

__No pressure, right?_ _

__Swallowing, he nods his own head. "I'm gonna need the device and it's IP address. Can you get me them?"_ _

__***_ _

__Derek's running through the Preserve, the earth beneath his paws giving way as he darted between trees and thickets, lights slicing over the bark like knives from behind him. He can taste the grittiness of gun powder in the back of his throat, can smell the acidic scent of wolfsbane, hear the orders being barked to capture him, to keep him alive._ _

He knows he has to get to the Pack, has to protect them, _warn_ them that a group of Hunters had stepped into Beacon Hills, had been blocking his advances into getting to them and, had been doing so for some time. 

__It tore him apart to hear their howls and calls, took everything in him to not reply and place them in further danger than need be, Derek's position in the woods the only thing standing between them and these Hunters._ _

__Derek had successfully kept them away from the town for two days, tormenting them while they tried to sleep or regroup by sneaking into their camps, and destroying anything he could get his jaws around, sometimes even taking off tires from their cars and ripping them to shreds._ _

__Now though, they clearly had had enough of his shit, creating two walls of Hunters on opposite sides of the Preserve and pushing him towards the centre of the woods, firing at him whenever he got too close to try and jump over them._ _

__Which was why Derek was now running along the line of Hunters, trying to dodge bullets and arrows, all the while trying to get enough air in his lungs to howl for help._ _

__Never in his life has he seen or even heard of these many Hunters before in one area. Whoever was the head of the party, clearly had the means to wipe out Packs ten times his, so why in the Hell were they here, in Beacon Hills?_ _

__Then, because when has life ever given him a break, an agonising ripple travelled from his shoulders and down to his tail, muscles in his legs locking and sending him to the forest floor. Derek let out a whimper when just as he collided with soft dirt and leaves, two arrows embedded themselves in his side, one managing to snap a rib and crack another._ _

__He struggled to get back up, shudders still racking through his body as he tried to yank the arrows out, a swift kick to his shoulder halting and tossing him back to the forest floor._ _

__All he could do was whine, slowly shifting away from a woman who had stepped into sight, four jagged scars running over her jaw and fading down the slope of her neck._ _

__He watched as she walked a wide arc around him, dark eyes running down the length of him. His upper lip curled up over his fangs in a silent snarl._ _

__"You know, these beauties right here are the perfect weapon when hunting for mutts like you. You don't have to get up and personal with them. Just have to aim and shoot." She laughed, crouching by his side and brandishing a sleek looking crossbow. "I guess from having Allison Argent in your little Pack, you'd know all about that, am I right, Hale?"_ _

__Despite being in full Alpha form, he froze._ _

"Yes, I know all about Argent joining your _Pack_. How she's basically some mutt's bitch." She spoke, a disgusted twist to her lips. She shrugged. "I'll have to teach her a lesson. I guess before I kill her, she's just gonna have to watch me cut him in half first." 

__Derek snarled at her, lunging forward to take a chunk out of the Huntress' side, only for something to wrap around his jaws tightly and close them with an audible snap._ _

__"Now, now." She taunted, yanking down as he tried to shake the thing from around his maw off, the smell of wolfsbane thick in the muzzle. "Be a good puppy and heel."_ _

__As she's said this, Derek could feel his body begin to shut down, tried not to inhale whatever was pressing against his nose and failing when oxygen was crucial to live._ _

__The woman faded in and out of his vision, her words echoing in his ears as his eyes closed. "I'm going to kill your Pack, Derek. I'm gonna force you to watch them get sliced open before it's your turn. Every single one of them is going to die right in front of you, and just like your family, there's nothing you can do to save them."_ _

__***_ _

__Stiles squinted at the black mass before him, tension building at the base of his spine as it moved forward and into the limited light._ _

__"Derek!" Allison cried out, stepping forward from behind him towards the wolf, nimble fingers trying to unbuckle the contraption off of his snout._ _

__It looked like a normal dog muzzle, but instead of it using leather, it was pure metal, the silver standing out against Derek's black fur. It was fastened tightly around his jaws and on closer exception, there were four thick leather straps wrapped behind his ears, tying the muzzle to his head._ _

__He guessed that's why Derek couldn't answer any of their calls or howls. It looked like he could barely breathe with it on, little alone howl and his heart twisted, at the thought about how long that thing's been on him._ _

__"We're gonna get this off you," Allison whispered, running her hands down his sides, a choked note to her voice. "We're gonna get you out of here."_ _

__She only got a rumble in reply, the cadence sounding weird to his ears._ _

__Stiles still hadn't moved from his position by the door, eyes narrowing further at the wolf crouched in front of him._ _

__Something was off with Derek, his posture tightly wound and tense when Allison unclasped the final buckle from between his ears, her voice soft as she murmured to him and dropped the muzzle._ _

__Usually when in wolf form and greeted with the Pack, Derek acted like an overgrown puppy, human characteristics broken down to simple emotions and actions. He'd pounce on one of them and engage in a wrestling match when he was happy, nip at their fingers or sides when he was annoyed and growl when he was pissed off, the grating noise halting even his and Allison's blood, despite being human._ _

__But right now, the way he was crouched and hackles raised, that was only seen when he was about to attack someone._ _

__Which was then, that Derek decided to snarl and leap forward._ _

__Allison didn't have the chance to scream, Stiles darting in and pulling her back with one arm around her waist, the other jamming an elbow into Derek's neck to shove him away. They watched Derek roll away and slowly step back until the darkness in the room swallowed him, a low rumble in his wake._ _

__"What the fuck was that?" Allison gasped, fingers digging into the skin of his bicep._ _

__"That, that isn't Derek." Stiles murmured, moving towards the door, the Huntress plastered to his back and mimicking his movements. "He's been away from us too long."_ _

__"If they're alive by tomorrow, I want you to shoot them in the head," Allison slowly repeated Ella's words, voice hushed and tickling his ear. "They've had him all this time, haven't they? They've known about us way before they made contact with my dad."_ _

__"Looks that way." Stiles shrugged, eyes scanning the room at large for a black mass lurking. It was hard to see anything besides massive machinery and junk, things easily able to conceal a predator on the prowl. Derek had all the home advantages on top of the super senses, and Stiles didn't like that one bit. "But it doesn't matter, we've gotta get out of here. He's going to either bite us or kill us, and we don't have anything to defend ourselves with."_ _

__"There's only one way in and they've locked that door." Allison replied, "And I don't think there isn't any windows either."_ _

__Stiles glanced around, gaze flickering up to the ceiling. He noticed the low hanging pipes above his head, just out of reach, easy to perch on and sturdy enough to hold weight. An idea formed in his head._ _

__Eyebrows furrowed, he murmured at Allison, "Can you reach that pipe above us?"_ _

__"I might need a boost." Was his hushed reply after a few seconds. "Why?"_ _

__"Climb onto to my back and get up there."_ _

__He crouched, pulse thundering in his ears as Allison moved, legs braced on his shoulders as he lifted her easily._ _

__"Got it," she grunted, pulling herself up and perching on the pipe, a leg straddling each side of it. She leant forward and held out her hand. "Come on. Hurry up, before he attacks again."_ _

__Stiles shook his head and stepped away from under her. "There's not enough room for us up there, Ally and even if there was, you can't pull me up. I'm gonna stay down here and help Derek."_ _

__His hands came up to unclasp the chain from around his neck, thanking every deity that Lydia had given his necklace back to him, all the while complaining at how heavy it was and asking why he always had it on his person. The she-wolf will probably find out later, but Allison was going to get front row seats why, and Stiles knew she wasn't gonna be happy about it._ _

__"He's going to kill you!" Said Huntress snaps, voice cracking as she shifted to jump back down. "I'm not gonna watch that hap-"_ _

__"Allison!" Stiles growled, swallowing back the wince when her body immediately stilled with a whimper, throat subconsciously bared to his eyes. He figured Ella's words held more weight than he previously had thought. "If you get hurt, it's going to kill your father."_ _

"And what if you get hurt? It'll _kill_ Derek once we get him back." She replied, her gaze not meeting his, but nonetheless narrowed.

__Stiles opened his mouth to reply but promptly closes it. He doesn't have an answer for that question, so instead he says, "I need you up there as my eyes because I can't see shit from down here. See if you can find any air vents or windows too, there's some light shining in here and the air isn't stilted, so there has to be something. If worse comes to worse, I can climb one of these machines and get away from Derek too. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."_ _

__Which yeah, that was a big, fat fucking lie._ _

__He watched as Allison turned, head tilted slightly before her hands darted out towards another rusted pipe at eye level. She pulled at it a few times and with a grunt, yanked the rod free. She threw it done at him. "Better let Derek chew on this than your neck."_ _

__It wasn't complete acceptance from the Huntress but it'll do._ _

__Getting used to the heavy weight in one hand and wrapping the chain around his fingers, Stiles slowly stepped further into the room, completely aware of the two pairs of eyes watching him._ _

__He closed his own, taking in a deep breathe and stretching out his hearing for the slightest sound. Predictably, he couldn't hear shit._ _

__"Ally?" He questioned, voice a low murmur._ _

__"I can't see him, but I can hear him." She replied, slowly moving along the pipe she was perched on. "To your left."_ _

__He turned in that direction, squinting his eyes when all he saw was black, trying to see two crimson like orbs in the dark blanket._ _

__How Derek managed to keep completely hidden in a dark room while having two lasers for eyes, he didn't know._ _

__A growl was the only warning he got before he was knocked to the ground, the oxygen being punched out of his lungs and spine curving, from the pain of having his back slammed against the concrete floor. Jaws snapped mere inches from his nose and Stiles knew if it weren't for the rod jammed against his throat, the black wolf would have likely bitten his face off._ _

__"Stiles!"_ _

__"I'm fine!" He yelled back over the snarls and roaring beat of his pulse, struggling to avoid Derek's jaws and claws. "Stay up there! Don't - just, just find an escape!"_ _

__Scrambling his feet under the heavy weight and finally finding purchase, Stiles gritted his teeth and kicked Derek's underbelly with all he could muster, rolling out from under him when there was enough room._ _

__He and Derek faced each other, Stiles watching on as the pair of crimson eyes lowered, a snarl rumbling from his chest. "I don't want to hurt you, Derek. Come on, snap out of it!"_ _

__The wolf went to attack again, body springing forward only to be knocked back when Stiles swung the rod against his muzzle, a whine tearing through the air when it connected, the force of his hit sending Derek to the right._ _

__Guilt slammed into his gut swift and hard when blood dribbled from the side of his jaw. Stiles took a deep breathe in and let it out, swallowed, before dropping down to his knees. "I'm not gonna fight you, Derek, this isn't you."_ _

__"What the fuck are you doing?" Allison snaps, and for a minute he forgot she was there with him, watching everything happen like some realistic 3D horror movie._ _

__Stiles swallowed and let the pole slip through his fingers, the metal clanging on the ground by his knees. "I'm gonna submit."_ _

__"What - are you crazy, Stiles! He's gonna rip your throat out!" He could hear her moving to jump back down from the pipes._ _

__"Just trust me," he murmured. Gradually, he inched his head to the right, baring the long curve of his neck._ _

__The wolf snarled again and pounced, Stiles moving out of the way at just the right second and catching Derek's muzzle with the chain, looping it around his jaws and tightening the noose with a hard yank. He struggled with the hook, managed to clasp the chain together again before shoving Derek's snout into the curve of his shoulder, his arms coming up to wrap around the wolf's head._ _

__Derek went crazy, trying to shake both him and the chain off from around his maw, but Stiles just held on, crying out in pain when the back of his head made hard contact against the solid ground, letting out a hiss when claws raked down the skin of his arms and leg._ _

__"Stiles! I swear to God - Answer me!"_ _

__"Come back, Derek." He chanted, ignoring her and digging his fingers into soft fur. "Come on, come back. "_ _

__Stiles hadn't noticed it was silent besides his own harsh breathing, until the sounds of a whine was pitched high in his ear. He pulled away slowly and realised that the black wolf wasn't struggling anymore, was just slumped over him, panting._ _

"Derek?" He murmured, breathe hitching when crimson eyes darted up to met his, gaze more focused, _more him_. He was back. Stiles let out a sigh and went limp. "Oh thank God, Allah, Buddha and Mother Mary."

He felt Derek shift above him, another whimper hitting his ears as he was nudged with a gentle nose. Over his arms and his left thigh, bloodied cuts were visible through torn clothes. 

__"I'm fine," he whispered, sitting up gingerly and unwrapping the chain from around his jaws, fingers caressing under his chin. "Just scratches."_ _

__Derek shook all over, still whining as he lapped gently at his arm. Stiles hooked his hands under his head and tugged until he was eye level with the wolf. "I'm fine, Derek. I'm fine."_ _

__Derek leant forward and pressed his forehead against his before nuzzling his nose gently._ _

He just sighed softly.

__A heavy weight collided to the side of him, letting out a rush of air when Allison punched him in the stomach. "If you ever do something that stupid again, I'll kill you myself, you asshole!"_ _

__Stiles spluttered. "It worked, didn't it?"_ _

__"I don't care," she replied, narrowing her eyes. "Don't do it again, or else I'm telling Lydia and Erica."_ _

__Derek chuffed at her lightly, moving to nuzzle her before hesitating, almost as if he was afraid she was going to turn him away._ _

__The Huntress didn't even bat an eye, swooping in to wrap her own arms around him, face buried in the fur under his ear. "Good to have you back, Derek." She murmured, pulling away and flashing dimples at him._ _

__There were the sounds of ripping heard and Stiles glanced at Allison, noticed her jacket now lay in ribbons, a strip already wound around the skin of his forearm and something being held in the palm of her hand._ _

__"You sneaky old man." She laughed, grinning._ _

__"What, what is it?" He asked, moving Derek out of the way to take a closer look._ _

__It wasn't that big, the size of a button, a blue blinking light slowly picking up pace._ _

__"It's a tracking device. My father's."_ _

__***_ _

__Danny grinned. "Got it."_ _


	13. Chapter Thirteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Then you _do_ know him regardless if he's been trained by werewolves and Hunters. He's smart and he works well under pressure." Chris reassures. "You've got nothing to worry about."
> 
> Easier said than done, he thinks to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus. I can't even tell you how sorry I am for how late this chapter is. There's a lot of factors on my not updating; family issues, internet problems and the ever reoccurring beast I call writer's block. 
> 
> There was also me getting sucked into starting another Sterek story, and the next thing I know is, I've got a 14K story on my hands and the party's only getting started. 
> 
> Anyway, apologies for the lateness my lovelies! Thank you for all the messages and taking the time to read DNTM. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
>  **WARNING** ; There is violence and mild gore mentioned in this chapter. The gore isn't really BAM in your face, but I just want it said that there's mentioning of a lot of blood. So yeah. Blood ain't your thing, please tread lightly. 
> 
> [LET'S BE FRIENDS!](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com)

_FOUR WEEKS BEFORE._

Ella Madison sits before her father in his office, a bored expression playing on her face. She waits patiently as he finishes talking on the phone, - most likely someone from the Council updating the status on the Alpha Pack, - but finds her eyebrows furrowing when hearing the name Hale, instead of Deucalion. 

"I thought Beacon Hills was Argent territory," she says, when he hangs up.

"It was," he answers, fingers folding under his chin, eyes narrowed. "Until Allison Argent decided to join herself with the Hale Pack."

Her lips twist into a sneer. "She's been compromised?"

"They've been monitoring them for awhile now. Something wasn't adding up with their recounts of any supernatural related incidents. Council wanted to find out why." He explained. "What they've found out is, Allison claims herself as a full fledged member of the Hale Pack. We've been called in to clean the mess up."

Ella's eyebrow ticks in agreement, but the thought that's been playing on her mind needs to be answered. "What about the Alpha Pack? We're close."

She watches as her father mirrors her sneer, standing up shakily before moving around the desk to pace behind her, cane in hand. "A third has been taken care of. By Allison and the Hale Pack. They've moved upstate into Beacon Hills and the scouts were the ones to be killed. They toyed around with two of the bitten fleabags, before finding their end in retaliation."

Feeling offended, her back stiffens. "A bunch of high schoolers killed a third of an Alpha Pack? The same one we've been hunting for the better half of a year?"

There's a flash of movement before her eyes and then there's pressure against her throat, a garbled sound escaping her parted lips when her air supply is cut. 

She doesn't struggle, knows that it would only prolong him in his trying to prove a point. Her pulse roars in her ears though and her fingers clench around the chair arms, nails digging into worn leather, while her body fights against the urge to throw her fist out against his face. 

"I don't enjoy having the family name shat upon by said high schoolers, Ella." Her father growls in her ear, the cane driving further into her skin, tilting her head up, to stare through a swimming gaze at the ceiling from the force. "I want their heads removed from their necks, am I understood?"

Though it hurts to move, she nods as best as she can, slumping to the side and letting out a gasp for air when the cane is removed, hand rubbing at the most likely bruised flesh. 

"Find out everything about them, I want to know who the fuck this Hale Pack is."

She nods again, jaw clenched and chest heaving. "Yes, father."

***

Ella collects information as she, her father and her men make their way to Beacon Hills. It isn't until she's two towns over though five days later, that she hears how dangerous the Hale Pack really is. Or more specifically, the only other human in the Pack besides Argent, some kid named Stiles Stilinski. 

"What," Ella says flatly, eyebrows raised and mouth tugging down hard into a frown. 

"You heard correctly, Ms. Madison." Briggs nods, taking a swig from his beer. "That Stilinski boy is dangerous. If I didn't know he was just human, I'd have thought he was something of the supernatural."

"He threw one of your men out of a one storey building?" She repeats, " _With him_?"

Briggs' gaze narrows, eyes going off to some distant place. "My _son_."

"Why didn't you kill them as retribution?" Ella questions, her own eyes scanning over the seedy pub they were in. She can tell which of the men lining the bar is Briggs', their postures alone giving them away. 

Wanting to scoff, she takes a pull from her Whiskey. She had kept to her end of the deal, bringing no men with her as requested if he reciprocated. Clearly there was no honour between Hunters anymore. 

That didn't mean she was unarmed because she wasn't a fool. She had her favourite handgun tucked away in her left boot, and four daggers at her belt, two sheathed by each side of her hips. Ella could take them on and leave the pub moderately unscathed. It wasn't her being cocky, it was just fact. 

So maybe it was her being self-centred, it was well deserved though. Her father made sure of it. 

The older man's jaw ticks. "That was the Hale Pack's countermove after we threw grenades at them. The wolfsbane suspensors caught Stilinski, Hale and some red headed girl, nearly killed her. They ambushed us where we were squatting, killed four of my men, my son included and forced us out of Beacon Hills lest we want our lives taken too. I've waited on the outskirts of the borders for a chance like this, so whatever you want or need Ms. Madison, you let me know so long as you bring me Stilinski's head."

Ella hums thoughtfully, mind turning ideas in her head before her mouth quirks. "Lend me the best of your men, the ones that are clearly in this pub and you've got yourself a deal."

Briggs stiffened but agreed with a hasty nod. He lifted one hand and with two fingers, gestured to the front entrance, eight men responding immediately and heading for it. 

"Do you know of any other Hunters that have faced the Hale Pack?" 

He inclines his head. "The Coopers. Lost two women, three men. I think they'd agree to send over some manpower if you'd asked. With Argents' help, you'll have them."

Ella knew her face twisted at the mention of Allison and Chris. "They've been comprised. I've been sent to do damage control."

Surprise flashes over his face. "Chris too? He doesn't seem the type to work with abominations, no matter how righteous he thinks he is."

She tilted her head in consideration because yes, that was true. He was always about the Code, never to step away from the lines drawn by the book. It was pathetic. 

No wonder Victoria took her own life. Having such a weak man for a husband, one that couldn't even keep mutts away from his wife _and_ daughter, Ella would have stabbed herself in the chest too. 

"It's hard to say about him, but what I say about his daughter is true." She replies, knocking the rest of her drink to the back of her throat. "She's their ally and has been since probably well before Gerard."

"Makes sense," he muses, bitterly taking another swig of beer. "They knew where and how to hit us."

"They won't be making the same mistake, I can assure you." Ella promises, eyes narrowed. 

"Are the rumours true?" He asks, when she stands up, features curious and head tilted in question. 

Ella knows what rumours he's talking about, knows that her family are sometimes the crazy nuts other Hunters whisper about behind her back. How the men in the family, make sure that the women are more than ready to take on the title of Head of the family. By any means necessary. 

Grinning sweetly, she flutters her eyes at him. "Do you honestly think I'm capable of killing my best friend, her family and my own mother because they were bitten?"

The other Hunter smiles, nothing but cold and hard around the edges. "Having Josh as your father, yeah I can."

***

Scott tries not to fidget, knows he isn't doing a good job when Lydia growls in warning at him, from across the room. 

Isaac snaps his jaws at her in reply, ignores the way Jackson glares before wrapping a comforting hand around his wrist. "We'll get them, Scott. For all we know, Stiles and Allison are kicking their asses right now. You know how pissed off Stiles gets, when someone one ups him."

Boyd chuckles from his perch on the bed and he has to smile slightly, because not a lot can make the cool facade the silent werwolf wears crack.

"Remember that time when those witches came into town? The ones that managed to lead Stiles to that strip club in Lexington, while Jackson and Isaac were taken?" He asks, glancing up from where he's watching Lydia make Molotov cocktails. 

"After we got them and kicked their asses, he was still fucking mad about it. Wanted to cut one of their heads off and use it as a Christmas ornament." Erica laughs, and nuzzles at his cheek. "His words, not mine."

"How can you be so casual about this?" Danny blinks owlishly at Scott from the computer, watching as Isaac moves towards the blonde she-wolf, her hand immediately running through his curls, when he settles by her side. "It's mildly terrifying."

He shrugs while the Sheriff snorts, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed. "Son, you have no idea."

"Oh, what about that time with those werewolves from the North, and Allison took out four of them all by herself?" Lydia pipes up, not even the slightest worried that she's toying around with chemicals that could, you know, burn half of Beacon Hills down to the ground. "Stiles and Derek were so pissed with her, when she rocked up to the house covered head to toe in blood."

"Don't know why," Isaac snorts. "Stiles has done a lot more fucking dangerous stunts than that."

"Please, let's not get into this," John mutters, scrubbing at his face with a hand. 

"But Sheriff," Erica says, grinning cheekily. "We haven't even told you about the Hunters they've fought."

He tries to join in their chatter of Stiles and Allison being badass, but he just can't. He's worried. And rightfully so. 

With Derek missing, his best friend and girlfriend taken, there's not much room left for optimism, so he can't really take the Pack talking about them as if they're already dead and at their wake.

With everything that's happened after Peter bit him, Stiles was right by his side. Even when he ignored him, tossed him to the side for Allison or something else he deemed more important. He was always there, his constant safety net when he fell. 

To not have that net there now, it terrified him, made the already unraveling seams tear faster than he could comprehend or try to stop.

Having both Allison and Derek absent too is another blow to the temple. Feels like it's hard to breathe without his Alpha there, like his heart is seizing in his chest without knowing if his girlfriend is alright. 

Scott startles when he feels someone shift down beside him on the beanbag, eyes darting up and finding Jackson watching him with an eyebrow raised. 

"You alright, McCall?" He asks, unconsciously pressing his thigh against his. "You look like you're about to throw up."

The panic swelling in his chest abates a little. He and Jackson still have their moments, where they revert back to being childish and squabbling over the littlest things, but they were better now. They were Pack, ready to protect one another, die if need be. So it's not all that surprising that he finds himself leaning into the touch. 

"Seems like everything just goes from worse to completely fucked, when things concern us." He murmurs, jaw ticking. "Can't get a freaking break."

The blonde werewolf sighs, arm coming up to curl around his shoulders. "Look, Stilinski is made of tough stuff. If anyone can make this all better, it's him. And he will."

He's not proud to admit it, but Scott feels dubious. "How can you be so sure that everything's gonna work out in the end? Derek's missing, Jackson. Two members of the Pack are being held hostage right now, they might not even be _alive_."

"Stiles would kick your ass if he ever heard you talk like that." He replies back with a scowl. "I'm not entirely sure I'd stop him either."

Wait. Who?

A sudden grin graces Scott's face and the scowl deepens. "I've never heard you say Stiles." He answers the questioning eyebrow. "It's always been Stilinski." 

"Don't get used to it." Jackson rolls his eyes, but a smile breaks free. He wraps a hand around the nape of his neck and gives it a gentle shake. "Calm down, okay? We'll get them. Derek too, wherever he is."

Nodding softly, he leans forward and noses at his cheek in thanks. There's a low rumble in reply and the sounds of Danny choking on his breath. They know what they look like, two supposedly arch nemeses snuggling on a beanbag, but they both ignore it. 

They've got bigger things to worry about than making sure Danny is comfortable with how the Pack interacts. That can come later after everything's back to normal. 

Well as normal as life can get in a werewolf Pack. 

Jackson gets up, pats his best friend on the arm before sitting with Lydia, the red head nestled between his outstretched legs, a small smile gracing his lips when she explains to the Sheriff, how easy it is to make Molotov Cocktails. 

He shrugs when he looks up into Danny's shocked face, "A lot changes when werewolves crash into your life."

"No fucking shit," he mutters, eyes darting around the room pointedly. 

Scott grins.

***

"I don't think you should be there. We need someone at the station to distract everyone." Chris tells him with a smile. "Who better than the Sheriff?"

John narrows his eyes, watches the smile turn into a frown. "This is my son we're talking about. As another parent, I think you can understand my need for being out there."

The other man lets out a sigh, puts the weapons he'd been holding down and plants his hands on the kitchen table, levelling their gazes. 

"Look, Stiles can handle himself. Derek and I have made sure of that. He knows what he's up against, knows that these Hunters won't hesitate just because he's a kid. Which means they won't care in gunning down a small town Sheriff either."

He's silent, jaw clenched, trying to push away the images of what _exactly_ Chris and Derek have done, to ensure that his son can take care of himself. 

Stiles told him one night that yeah, the days he'd come home late, bruises lining his body, a black eye forming and a busted lip, were the days he was with Chris and Allison, not with the team practicing for Lacrosse like he said.

It wasn't hard to decipher after that confession, that whenever he seen Stiles with strategically placed cuts on his arms, neck and on one questionable time, his hip, were all from Derek. 

He can't even explain what he'd been thinking whenever that would happen, mind darting back and forth between bullying, or some sort of abusive relationship he was scared to get out of. No matter what though, his son never gave nothing away, chose to stay silent rather than to lie. 

He's not sure what one hurt the most, getting lied to or Stiles' obvious refusal in telling him what was wrong. 

Sitting at the table, John breathes out heavily. "It feels like I don't even know Stiles. Feels like I'm living with a total stranger that, if they so wanted, could kill me in my sleep."

The older Hunter pulls out a chair beside him, "Stiles is your son. The person that's with my daughter, is your son. There's no one better besides myself and the werewolves, that I can lay Allison's life in their hands, than him. He takes care of the people he loves, protects them with his all."

His mouth quirks to the side, mind going over all the times he's woken up from a drunken stupor, to a blanket tucked around his sprawled body on the couch, fresh coffee in the kitchen and a plate of warm food in the oven. "That's him alright."

"Then you _do_ know him regardless if he's been trained by werewolves and Hunters. He's smart and he works well under pressure." Chris reassures. "You've got nothing to worry about."

Easier said than done, he thinks to himself. 

John watches him stand up, grab the crossbow and gun from the table. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

The Hunter grimaces. "Ella might get some of her men to knock me around a little bit, but nothing I haven't handled before. All you worry about is if you get any calls, keep your Deputies at the Station."

He nods. "Yeah, I'm gonna have Danny call in and say that there's gonna be some prank callers tonight. If that doesn't do anything, I'll take over for Sheryl who's on the phone."

There's movement from behind him and John turns, finds Lydia and Erica standing by the entranceway. 

"We're ready when you are." The blonde she-wolf says, eyes flaring gold. 

***  
"You didn't give that much of a fight," Ella says, head tilted to the side. "Thought you would have fought tooth and nail."

He remains silent, only let's out cut off groans whenever there's a punch thrown his way. 

There's fourteen people - six women and eight men - lining the wall before him in the room he's currently held in, crossbows and shotguns varying in their hands. 

Chris feels flattered, really. He wasn't what he used to be in his younger days, but his reputation still exceeds him, even to this very day. 

He rolls his wrists behind his back, testing the bonds tied around his hands. They're tight, uncomfortably so, but easy to get out of by himself. 

The fourth thing that the Madison's have done wrong. The third being not tying him to a bolted chair, the second being not surrounding him and keeping an eye on his hands, and the first being, kidnapping his daughter. 

"Your father would be rolling in his grave, if he could see what you've become." Josh snaps, with a glare. 

He turns to the side, spits out the blood pooling in his mouth. "Good, I wouldn't want him comfortable."

He's rewarded with another jab, this time to his side, his ribs protesting sharply with every spluttering breath. 

"And what about Victoria, hmm?" Ella questions, yanking at his chin to level their gazes. "We've all heard about her sacrifice, about how she took her own life so she wouldn't turn. It makes me question whether or not you'd do the same."

Chris' heart clenches in his chest. To be honest, he's not sure he would either. He loves his wife, took his vows of _till death do you part_ seriously, but he can't help but selfishly think why? 

Did she detest what Derek was so much, that the thought of becoming a werewolf prompted her to kill herself, to take herself away from Allison? From him?

His jaw locks. He knows the answer; yes. Victoria wasn't cut from the same cloth as Kate and Gerard, but the shading of the material could be mistaken for one another. She wouldn't have sought innocent Packs out just for the fun of it, wouldn't have spilt blood if no one was guilty. But she saw werewolves as abominations, something that was in need of ridding the Earth of. But he loves her all the same. 

"I'm beginning to think there's a lot more worse things I could turn into, besides werewolves," he answers, smiling. "A psychotic monster, for example." 

Ella throws him a disgusted look, shoves his face away with a hard push. "You've been allying yourself with the Pack here, admit it."

"I never once denied it." Chris replies, blithely. "What I can't understand though, is that there's been hundreds of alliances between Hunters and Packs residing in one town. What makes me so special that I get all this attention?"

"Allison isn't allied with the Hale Pack, she's _apart_ of it." Josh growls, stepping forward, cane clicking against the concrete beneath their feet. "She's spitting in all of our faces, going against traditions going back generations, and for what? Some _boy_?"

"She's apart of the Pack to stop Hunters like you, who go on slaughtering rampages. Being in love is just the added bonus," he snaps, slightly perturbed at defending Scott so vehemently. He figures it was about time, he and the other werewolves protecting Chris whenever he'd been knocked out or injured. "Something I didn't know was an international crime."

"Well, it doesn't really matter now." Grinning, Ella circles him, fingertips sliding along the line of his shoulders. She leans in close, mouth close to his ear, "She's dead. Stilinski with her. I locked them in a room with Hale and he killed them."

His heart stops. 

Chris knew all about Derek and the Pack feeling the effects of being separated, knew that if Derek kept himself away from the Pack, or in actuality, held hostage, he'd go mindless. 

He thought they had more time though, in finding him and setting everything straight. Chris had even joined in the search party for the Alpha. Looks like it was just a waste of time and energy. 

"You're lying." He grits out. 

"What would I get out of lying?" The Huntress chuckles, breathe fanning against his throat. She wraps her arms around his neck, wrists crisscrossing over his collarbones. "Wonder if they tried to reason with him before Hale ripped them apart. Serves them right for mingling with animals."

Something snaps in his chest and the next thing Chris knows is, he's pulling his head back and slamming it against Ella's. She stumbles away as he struggles against his bonds, despite all the guns pointed in his direction. 

"I swear to God, if you've hurt them," he snarls, glaring. "I'll be the one to kill you."

"It's best you accept it now Chris, before my men drag their lifeless bodies in here." She swipes at the blood trickling down from a cut below her eyebrow, jaw clenching when gazing at her fingers. "Even if they did survive Hale, they'll just get a bullet between the eyes."

"You should have done your job as Head of the family when you had the chance," Josh comments, finally speaking. He nods slightly and all the guns are lowered. "Maybe then you wouldn't have lost your daughter."

"So she could become a serial killer like yours?" He asks, lunging forward in his seat. 

"What my daughter became is a Hunter, someone that isn't weak!" The older man growls, mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. "Someone like _you_."

He glares, already envisioning what it'll feel like to put a bolt through his teeth. 

All throughout their conversation, Chris had slowly managed to get one of the roped loops around his wrists loose, and was now currently set on slipping his left hand out from between them. 

He's been careful so far, making sure not to make any sudden moves with his shoulders, only using the lunge in Josh's direction, to yank the loop wide enough for it to slide over the width of his palm. 

Chris winds the rope around his fingers when he's finished, giving off the illusion that he's still very much tied to the chair, still very much defenceless. 

He smiles to himself, it'll only be a matter of time before he hears howling on the wind, hears familiar snarls echoing in the abandoned building. All he has to do is wait.

***

Allison looks at him weirdly. Considering what just fell out of his mouth, he found that the better option than a punch to the throat. 

"Stiles, I don't know how much of Derek making you read tiny font writing has fucked up your eyesight," she says, ignoring both his and said werewolf's indignant huff, "But I can't fit up there. No matter if I _strip down to just my bra_."

He winces at the air quotes around her words. Not one of his best plans, he'll openly admit. "Sorry. That was a lot less subtle and a whole lot assholish than I thought it'd be."

She waves his apology away, knowing that he still has the ability to shove his foot in his own mouth. Derek however, snorts up at him, head nestled in his ribs and eyes amused. 

Stiles isn't sure what that means exactly, having the Alpha so up in his personal bubble, that they might as well blend together into one being. 

He can't help but think is this Derek's way of apologising? With that, is he accepting said apology for letting the werewolf be close? More importantly, does this mean he's apart of the Pack again?

He's actually kinda scared to ask. 

"I don't hear you coming up with ideas, dog breath." He mutters, pushing those thoughts and Derek aside, glancing up at the small air shaft he'd been trying to convince the Huntress to climb through. 

Gentle teeth nip at the skin of his hip, making him squirm away, hand batting gently at his snout. Derek growls lowly, head bumping against him roughly before swivelling around to face the doorway a few feet away. 

"Someone coming?" Allison asks, hands clenching around the rod she'd given him earlier. She glances at Stiles. "Must be daylight."

He counts the nudges at his thigh from Derek. "Five." Stiles answers her, mind racing. Grabbing her elbow, he pushes her gently back. "Hide, let them come further into the room and take them out. Silently."

"Here," the Huntress offers, holding out her hand where a large, long piece of metal was resting on her palm. She'd fastened one of the strips of her ripped jacket around the end to make a hilt, another strip of fabric holding it all together. "You might need this."

Both she and Derek bleed into darkness, something that he'd comment on being really fucking creepy, for the sheer fact that they'd been synchronised, eyes glinting dangerously.

Looking around quickly, he spots a large rusted cog, grins and picks it up. He silently makes his way over to stand behind the door, hears voices on the other side of it when there's a key being slid into a lock. 

Breathing in calmly, the door opens, Stiles slowing it down gently before it smacks into him. He counts five sets of footsteps, can see torch lights sliding over the machinery in low and high sweeps. 

Waiting until the lights are further in the room, he slowly bends over and gently places the cog before the door, using it as a door stop. 

"Look, the mutt tore into them." A guy laughs, most likely eyeing the spot where Derek attacked him. "You think he even realised he's just killed his own Pack?"

"Doesn't look like Hale killed them here," another man replies. "For one, there's no bodies and two, no blood trails. Probably killed them somewhere in the back. Split up, switch to thermal. Kill anything on sight."

Stiles' heart skips and he grits his teeth in frustration. They'll spot Allison in no time, will know that they're still alive and not dead. 

If he strains his hearing, he can hear the low growl Derek's letting out in warning, nods his head in approval when he realises that the Alpha's drawing them all in the same direction, rather than having them search for him. 

Taking in a few breaths, he slides out from behind the door, follows the last one of the men making his way into the room. Slipping up at his back, he makes it quick, grabs at the man's mouth, yanks his head back and with a slicing action, slashes his throat. 

Silently, he pulls the body to the side, tucking it between two large metal pipings. He grabs the gun and the thermal imager, uses it to locate the other four Hunters. 

He sees that Allison's already taken out one of them too, body haphazardly pushed to the side and is now slowly creeping up on another. 

He watches her snap his neck before catching the dead weight, struggling slightly to put him down quietly. She ends up dropping him anyway when the sounds of bullets ricocheting echo in the room, body instinctively dropping to the floor and out of the crossfire. 

Stiles begins to shoot back, manages to kill one of them before needing to take cover as well when guns are swung in his direction, hands coming up to protect his head. 

There's a loud snarl, the sounds of struggling, silence and then a pained whine. He peeks up over the machine he's hiding behind and sees Derek stagger over a crumpled body towards Allison. 

Who isn't moving. 

He darts toward them, doesn't realise he's yelling out her name in a panic, until he's yanking the dead body of the Hunter off of her, cupping her bloody face in his hands and trying to find any injuries. 

"Can you hear a heartbeat?" He asks, voice cracking. 

Derek whines again, nudges at Allison's cheek with his nose when he nods. 

Stiles runs his hands down her shoulders, over her ribs before pulling them away, palms and fingers painted in crimson.

"I can't tell whose blood this is." His heart seizes in his chest, shakily tapping the Huntress on the cheek. "Come on, Ally. Wake up for me, show me those pretty eyes."

Relief washes over him, body sagging against Derek's ribs when minutes later, he hears a low groan coming from her, eyebrows drawn together in pain, eyes fluttering open. 

"What the fuck happened?" She murmurs, letting out a low hiss when she sits up, hand coming up and cradling her temple. 

"Must have bumped your head," he guesses, tilting her chin this way and that, inspecting the affected area. "You dropped pretty quickly. I thought you got hit."

"Nah," she smiles reassuringly, as Derek laps at her cheek where a bullet grazed skin just under her right eye. "Used him as a shield."

Stiles glances down at the Hunter's body, only just now noticing that there's dozens of bullet holes in him. That would explain why he was on top of her and she covered in blood. 

He's said it once and he'll say it again, he never, ever wants to be on Allison's hit list, metaphorically and literally. 

"Come on," he coaxed, holding out his hand for her. "I'm not sure if anyone heard that gunfire, but I'm not gonna be around to find out."

Whoever it was, couldn't have timed it any better. 

An explosion sounds, shaking the room and sending dust to rain down over them. Then there's orders being barked through the radios strapped to the dead Hunters' chests, the rapid pulse of guns being fired. 

"Don't think it matters," Allison grins, shouldering a shotgun. "Pack's here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if there's sexy vibes between Chris Argent/Sheriff and Scott/Jackson, THAT WAS SO NOT MY INTENTIONS! Hah. Legit, no matter how I wrote those scenes, they always ended up with me thinking "WTF?! How did that happen?!"
> 
> Meh. What's a chick to do?


	14. Chapter Fourteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Isaac thought about it; everyone in the Pack had scars to bear. It's probably why they were so compatible as a Pack. They all lost something, they all became the social pariah one stage in their lives, some on more of a permanent scale than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. You guys must all hate me for taking so long. I kinda hate me to be quite honest. But, can't cry over spilt milk, as the saying goes. 
> 
> There's a lot going on in this chapter and the POV changes. Kinda reminds me of an actual episode. I don't know how or why it ended up like this, but it did. My mind is a crazy place, let me tell you. 
> 
> **Usual warning** ; there's violence in here, mild blood and gore. If this squicks you please, please tread carefully. 
> 
> Also, I've posted this literally after finishing, if there's any mistakes, I'll come back and fix it all up when I've overcome the trauma I received from this chapter. Seriously, I was on the verge of tearing my hair out, that's how bad I hate this chapter. But that's just my usual biting off more than I can chew. Bleh. 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR BEING PATIENT WITH ME. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE THAT. I LOVE YOU ALL.
> 
>  
> 
> [COME PLAY WITH ME.](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> ENJOY.

Isaac's growling lowly from where he’s crouched metres away from where Chris, Stiles and Allison are being held. He can smell the faded scent of the older Hunter’s, can smell the rustic scent of freshly spilled blood and it sets him on edge. He’s barely keeping himself in check, nerves jittery and body twitching violently, the need to get his Pack mates back safe and sound overwhelming.

He's never felt this frazzled before, so out of mind and body, so out of control. Not when Camden died in action, not when his mother left from all the abuse hurtling in from his father. Not even when his father's attentions turned to him. 

It's weird to think like that. That not even the times he lay awake, body a throbbing ache while his father lay in a drunken slumber, did he feel so in control. Sure, there were moments where helplessness set in, a sense of knowing nothing will ever change, not until he was eighteen and able to leave without ever glancing back. But that had all taken a turn for the better. Literally. 

Derek and inadvertently the Pack, coming into his life has been the best thing to ever come about. To have an outside threat come along and try and sabotage that, well, it didn't sit too well with him. 

“Stop it,” Lydia hisses, fingers darting out and gripping his wrist tightly enough to grind bone, stilling his now realised pacing on hands and feet. “You’re gonna give away our position!”

His shoulders hunch up by his ears, an apologetic whine at the back of his throat. “Sorry, Lyds.”

The red head sighs, loosens her hold in favour of sliding her hand down to link their fingers together, tugging gently until he complies in stepping further into her space. Isaac worms his head under her chin, nuzzles at the hollow of her throat, which proves to be less difficult than he thought since their height differences. His eyes close though at the comforting rumble echoing in her chest.

“We’ll get them, Isaac. Its just a few more minutes and we’ll get Stiles and Ally back.” She reassures, fingers splayed out in his curls.

They both deny the possibility that Stiles and Allison could be dead, don't even entertain the idea. 

"What about Derek?" He murmurs, hands clutching at her ribs. "We have no idea where he is."

Another rumble vibrates through her. "One problem at a time, okay? If we think about everything all at once, we'll slip and we have no room for errors."

It was moments like this where Isaac envied her clinical way of thinking; the way she detached herself emotionally from how a scenario played out. He often wondered if that was because of the massive impact Peter had on her, whether or not she had always had this way of categorising things by how heavy the situation was. 

Either way, Peter had left Lydia battered and bruised, literally and metaphorically. 

Now that Isaac thought about it; everyone in the Pack had scars to bear. It's probably why they were so compatible as a Pack. They all lost something, they all became the social pariah one stage in their lives, some on more of a permanent scale than others. 

He nods, breathing in her scent, the Pack's underlining hers. He can smell the Chanel No. 5 she wears subtly, can scent Jackson's cologne, Erica's body wash and Allison's shampoo. It soothes him, settles the panicking part of his mind into a lulling daze. 

There’s the sounds of movement from behind them and they both freeze, heads swivelling around to face that direction, eyes narrowed and muscles locking, ready to spring.

“Just me,” Erica says lowly, stepping out into the rising light, a black bag strap over one shoulder. He and Lydia immediately relax their stances. “Boyd, Scott and Jackson are ready, is everything set up here?”

“It will be,” Isaac answers, pressing a quick kiss to Lydia's temple before pulling away form the she-wolf. He bends down to pick up his assigned duffel bag, accepts the hand squeeze from Erica before disappearing into the tree line. 

Every few metres he let’s out a breathy chuff, waits, before continuing on. He's keeping close to the thickets, senses stretched out and on high alert, making sure that the Hunters he and the rest of the Pack are surrounding, stay completely oblivious to their plans and positions. Easier said than done with the sun slowly rising from behind him. 

It’s minutes later he gets a reply; a low yip from Boyd and a sharp bark from Jackson. Immediately, he drops his bag and unloads the Molotov Cocktails, readying them to throw before quietly moving closer to the building in front of him. Crouching, he waits for the signal; Lydia’s high pitched howl on the wind from the East.

Instead, he gets Scott's coming from the opposite direction, and then there's the sounds of explosions going off one after the other, flames and smoke shooting up into the morning sky. 

Following suit, he tosses the clear beakers at the building, watching as the Hunters go into alert mode, guns raised and ready to fire. 

Hearing dead foliage being stepped on from behind, Isaac grins, crouches, before launching himself upwards into the nearest tree and digging his claws into hard bark. 

He watches on as Chris and Allison's men advance below him, five he can see from his perch on a thick branch, but can count several steady heartbeats to the left and right of him. They're dressed in black, some even going to the extent of covering their mouths and noses, leaving just calculating eyes bare. 

He and Jackson were wary in trusting them, despite knowing that all of them willingly followed the Argents in changing their Code, and honouring the alliance the Pack and Chris forged. With some, they were even on good terms with, able to hold long and interesting conversations despite once a upon a time, being sworn enemies. Regardless, Isaac would have just liked it being the Pack rescuing Stiles and Allison, but there were just too many of Madison's own men, nearly a hundred.

Isaac's never seen so many in the one area. Have families of Hunters always been that big?

" _They're not gonna suspect them because Ella has such a vast number of men_." Chris had explained, nodding at Brian Greyson, the next senior Hunter after him. " _It'll just look like reinforcements to them_."

And that's what it did look like. From what he could see, a ripple of ease ran through Madison's men, not being able to spot the attack for what it was until the very last second. 

A large majority of them fell under the rain of bullets, the rest managing to find cover, get their bearings, before retaliating. 

Lydia's howl echoes over the rapid pulse of guns and Isaac's moving then, using the trees to manoeuvre his way towards the building, digging his claws into bark before launching himself up onto the roof of the abandoned lot, scrambling slightly, but catching himself seconds after. 

Boyd and Erica are already there, chests heaving and sweat collecting at their brows. Boyd's nursing a healing broken arm, and he's gently batting the blonde she-wolf away with his remaining good one, while trying not to grin at her fondly. 

"I'm fine," he says, showing her by straightening out his elbow and giving a jaunty shake. He and Isaac smile softly when she leans down, places a kiss where unblemished skin peaks through the rip in his long sleeved Henley. He glances over at Isaac. "Got caught by a few Hunters. It's why Scott sent out the signal before Lyds did, he overheard us fighting."

Nodding, he does his own inspections on the couple, quick hands running down their arms and ribs, before stepping away in time to watch the rest of the Pack land on the rooftop. 

They give each other seconds to eye one another for any injuries, to calm that overwhelming need to make sure that everyone's okay. It's only now just reached his attention that not having Stiles, then Derek and now Allison around, turned that small flame burning behind his ribs into an inferno, into a blaze he has no hope in controlling. Maybe it was paranoia, maybe it was his instincts, but he knew it wouldn't abate until he had his Pack whole, safe and close again. 

"Let's go," Jackson grits out, body shivering from barely held back growls. He's already moving to the door that'll lead into the building, has it ripped off the hinges before Isaac can register it. "I'm not letting them Hunters have all the fun."

They follow silently, shoulders set and muscles tightly wound, heads tilted to the side, trying to separate the cacophony of noises happening inside the building and out. 

Isaac nudges Lydia by his side, ears picking up on the several raised heartbeats and muffled voices. What caught his attention though was the steady pulse of someone. A certain Hunter who may have known of their plans and known that they were on their way. 

She nods in approval, and while crouching, runs a hand over the cemented floor, claws peeking through her nails and gouging in deep. She glances up at the Pack, Erica moving away to walk further down the corridor with eyes trained to the floor. "Either we go down a level and miss them, or we smash through it and land on top of Mr. Argent."

"He'd be out of his ties by now. He'll be able to duck out of the way if we go through it." Jackson says and shakes his head, looking dubious. "It's what Madison is gonna do when she realises it's us. She might kill him." 

"He's here." Erica interrupts. They all snap their gazes up, watches as she marks the spot with a heeled boot, clawed hands cupping her hips. "If we enter on either side of him, it keeps Argent from being squished and keeps the Hunters focused solely on us."

"How we gonna get through?" Scott says, frowning. "I've only ever seen Derek get through solid cement, and he had a three metre running start and a pissed off witch on his ass."

"Not to mention gravity." Isaac pipes in, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

Everyone doesn't say anything, stumped. 

"Punch it." Boyd comes up with, rolling his shoulders. "We all do it at the same time. Three each side."

"It's something." Isaac replies, watching Lydia getting to her feet and stepping up beside Boyd. "I'm with Lyds. We'll go together. Rest with Erica."

They move into position, Scott and Jackson crouching next to the blonde she-wolf, fists ready. 

"I'll help, but once you get through, I'm looking for Stiles and Allison." Scott tells them, eyes darting around to everyone else's. 

Isaac fights back the urge to snap his jaws at him and demand that he stay with the Pack. The last thing they need is someone else being taken or end up missing. With the way Beacon Hills is and their luck, it's not entirely out of the question. 

"I swear to God, Scott, if you get hurt in anyway, I'll end you." Lydia snarls, as if reading his mind, eyes flashing at him in warning. She shoves a walkie-talkie into his hands. "And not even Stiles or Derek can protect you from my wrath."

He accepts her threat wholeheartedly, clipping the talkie through one of his belt loops. "I won't, Lyds. Promise."

Isaac catches Scott's gaze and narrows his eyes at him, silently telling him, _you better_. 

He gets an understanding head tilt. 

"On the count of three," Erica orders then, waits for everyone to nod before counting. "One, two, three!"

~

Danny's fingers tap an incessant beat on the armrest, his mind a flurry of thoughts as he stares at the sketch of Erica he has on his lap, eyes wild and fangs pressing down on parted lips. 

Werewolves. Fucking _werewolves_. This all feels like some scary dream he can't seem to wake from. 

He doesn't even know where to begin to separate all his musings, so he can understand how exactly his world has just been flipped upside down.

Does he start where the mysterious deaths around town began?

Or what about when Scott suddenly stepped up on First Line, his asthma suddenly being cured? 

Does him getting whammed with some drug he's never heard of before at Jungle, have something to do with what's going on in the shadows of Beacon Hills?

How about Jackson and Lydia, his two best friends changing demeanours and therefore tables in the cafeteria at school? Acting weird and bailing on outings last minute with lame ass excuses? Things like Lydia saying she needed to study and Jackson having to do Lacrosse drills. 

Lydia studying? Yeah right. Danny was sure that the teachers at school asked _her_ how to do that day's lesson. Jackson doing drills? Well, not entirely untrue. He's always known that his best friend needed to be the best of the best, but in the woods? Where he's seen the two of them running off to? Yeah, very unlikely. 

There's just so many things he wants to ask and get answers to. 

"Danny?"

Jumping, he closed his sketch book shut, gaze snapping up and locking with the Sheriff's, eyes gentle as they are strong. "Yeah?"

"You alright, son?"

He nods, thinks for a second about the picture he's spent the last hour on before deciding to shake his head. "No. Not really."

The Sheriff smiles, steps into his office Danny had been sitting in and settles on the table before him, legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded over his chest. 

Silence takes over, the easy atmosphere of the Station grating against his wired nerves. 

"It's hard, isn't it?" Sheriff Stilinski says after awhile, tilting his head to the side. It reminds him of Stiles and his somewhat invasive questions at school. "Trying to adjust to knowing what you know now. Asking yourself if werewolves could be real, what else from fairytales and legends could be true."

Danny shrugs limply, bites at his lip nervously. "In all honesty, Sir, I haven't gotten there just yet. I'm still stuck on my friends lying to me."

"Ah," the older man agreed, a sardonic smile pulling at his features. "Took me awhile on that too. Especially with how I found out. Kinda puts a spin on things."

Eyebrows furrowed and curiosity peaked, Danny leans forward on his elbows, chin pillowed in the cups of his palms. "How'd you find out?"

A twitch pulls at one side of the Sheriff's mouth, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I shot a giant wolf seconds away from attacking my son. I then watched another transform from four legs to two."

His heart thumps hard against his ribs. Erica had only grown sharp teeth and changed the colour of her eyes from brown to gold. Did that mean they _all_ transformed into wolves?

"Who - who was it?"

Before he can answer, the phone on the table rings loudly, startling him. 

"You'll find out soon enough." The Sheriff tells him, reaching for the phone, a grimace taking over as a loud voice comes through in garbled yells. 

Listening with half an ear, Danny vaguely hears the older man soothe whoever it is on the other line, explaining about how someone has come in and tipped them off about a rave out in the abandoned lots and around town. 

He shifts uneasily. Danny had been that someone. 

He'd gotten looks from the Deputies, especially Deputy Parrish - or McDreamy, his mind supplied happily - at the front desk when he asked to see the Sheriff. 

And he got it, he did. There was some unwritten law as a teenager, that you didn't go blurting out where and when raves or parties would be held, particularly if they had alcohol and questionable substances there. Danny felt like he betrayed someone and their mother just by being here, little alone making up some lie about a rave that didn't even exist. 

"Don't worry, Mr. Bard." Sheriff Stilinski spoke, nodding though the old coot couldn't see him. "We're a little short staffed but we're slowly making our rounds. Just stay inside and we'll have this all cleaned up before you know it."

Hanging up, the older man lets out a sigh and Danny can't even begin to imagine what he's feeling right now, knowing that his son is somewhere getting shot at or something even worse. "It's started I guess. Think your computer skills will hold off the storm?"

That was the other reason why Danny was supposed to come down to the Station. It took him some time, but he manually overrode the systems, ensuring that all the emergency calls would either be answered by himself or the Sheriff, and not by the thirty or so officers outside the office, completely unawares as to what was happening in town. 

He's not sure whether or not that's a good thing. On the one hand, wasn't it their job to notice things? Patterns or whatever it is they did on TV shows? On the other, maybe it was for the best they didn't know. He didn't exactly come to terms with everything. If he were to lie, he'd say he didn't have to. 

Danny wants to snort in disbelief but decides to nod his head instead, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. "I didn't get warnings from NASA and the CIA for nothing, Sir."

The Sheriff would know since he was there for the "slap on the wrists" he'd gotten for his troubles from two men in crisp, black suits. 

"'Atta boy," the older man praises, sliding the other ringing phone towards him. 

Answering it, Danny settles in for what he knows is gonna be a long night, takes solace though that he'd rather answer phones than whatever it is the others are doing that requires people to call the cops. 

~

Stiles pushes Allison gently to the wall when Derek nips at his ribs, a signal that he and the Alpha came up with if someone was coming their way. 

They'd made it so far up a flight of stairs and down two corridors before now, and Stiles had the stupid notion to think that luck was finally on their side. 

He presses a finger to his lips when the Huntress looks at him in question, waits until Derek counts how many heartbeats he can pick up on, before drawing the number six over Allison's pulse in her wrist. 

She nods, head tilting to the side as she holds up a hand, four fingers counting their pace down to one. 

They both step out from behind the wall, Allison holding the shotgun steadily aimed at the chest of one Hunter, a blade tucked in the back of her jeans. Stiles is armed just like her, to prove his point, he cocks the shotgun and quirks a smile when Derek slinks forward to plant himself between them, lips pulled back into a silent snarl. 

"I got the two on the left," Allison whispers through the corner of her mouth. "Don't think I can push for a third."

Stiles drags his thumb down over the hilt of the gun to show he's heard. He had the two to the right. It just left the female and other male in the middle. Derek growls lowly, as if he's saying, _mine_. 

"Ella said you'd be hard to kill," the red haired Huntress says, matching machetes strapped to a curvy hip. "I'm just disappointed that she's not here to see you die now."

"How many people have underestimated us, Ally? I've lost count." He snorts and Allison lets out a laugh, eyes darting towards his to give him a wink before back again. 

"It's cute that you think you're the ones leaving this corridor alive." She grins. "We have a lot more to fight for than you."

Derek snaps his jaws in agreement, body lowering to the ground, ready to pounce.

The Huntress quirks an amused eyebrow. "Let's see, shall we?"

He and Allison move at the same time; a practiced move they know how to do in their sleep thanks to her father. Firing first at a Hunter each, their hand comes down to quickly grasp the knife tucked in their jeans, and with a flick of their wrist, buries the sharp blade in the chest of another. 

Derek barrels into the female Huntress with a snarl and that's the last thing he happens to see. Allison's shoving Stiles down to the floor just in time when a gun goes off, dust raining down from above him as bullets bury themselves in the concrete at his back. 

"Fuck, Ally!" He splutters as she lands on top of his ribs, hands gripping her arms to pull her down beside him instead above. He rolls over her, tucking his body around hers. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" She says, forearms coming up to cover her head. 

His heart leaps into his chest as the holes on the wall get closer to them; it'll be seconds before he gets a back full of bullets. Glancing around, he sees that their close to the hallway they just come out of, they've just gotta get there. 

"Put your feet on the wall," he tells her, shows her how by doing it himself. She copies him, allows Stiles to wrap his arms around her waist and tuck his knees behind hers. "I'm gonna count to three and then we're gonna kick off, okay?"

It's not even seconds after he's said three, that he and Allison kick themselves off the wall and slide towards the corridor, the gun firing at the exact spot where they were huddled against. Stiles uses their momentum and rolls, basically tossing Allison first before him. 

"Why weren't you watching what you were doing, you fucking idiot," she hisses, grabbing his shoulders and hauling him towards her, his sneakers squeaking against the floor in protest. "You could have been shot!"

It doesn't really matter though because whoever was shooting at them is either dead or has ran out of ammunition. 

There's a snarl from around the corner and then there's a body laying before them, face first in the ground. Stiles blinks once and again before recognising the female Huntress with the machetes. 

Derek appears, keeping all of his weight off his front right paw and body heaving. Allison gestures at him quickly, arms held out for him to place it in the palms of her hands. Turning his leg left and right, she examines the limb up to where it meets his chest, fingers pulling away painted in blood. And thankfully not with black ooze. 

"She cut the tendons here," she says, showing Stiles and wincing apologetically when Derek flinches away from her touch with a whimper. "It'll heal though. There wasn't anything on the blade."

The Alpha laps at her cheek in thanks and crowds in looking for injuries, Allison flashing dimples at him in reply and batting him away gently. 

Getting to his feet, Stiles counts the bodies littering the hallway, frowns when he only sees five. Turning, he faces Allison and Derek - walking normally now - stepping up behind him. "One get away?"

The wolf nods, head jerking forward to a door that's been ripped open to their right. 

"We gotta move then." The Huntress says, bending over and picking up a discarded AK47. She loops it around her back before moving towards the stairwell to the left. "If they alert Madison we're out before the Pack finds us, it'll be dangerous for us to be separated. They'll take us out one by one if we are."

Nodding, he copies her in grabbing all the weapons he can carry before following, Derek looking oddly pleased with a machete held between his jaws.

~

Chris takes a deep breathe in, consciously ignoring the rattle in his chest and the throbbing pain flaring up under his ribs. 

He's not sure how long he's been here, an hour, two at the most, and his body is finally shutting down. There's nothing quite like getting the shit kicked out of you, to remind yourself how much you've aged and unready for what's about to happen.

"Tell us where the rest of the Pack is, Chris." Ella demands, mouth pulled down into a hard scowl. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and from what his throbbing eyes can see, her hands are splattered with blood. 

Considering that that's _his_ blood on her and several other Hunters, he'd like to know the answer to that question too. 

Instead he says through clenched jaws, "Couldn't find them, Ella? Daddy isn't gonna be pleased."

She bares her teeth at him. "They might have scattered like the vermin they are, but it'll be too soon that they'll resurface. Without Hale and their _human pets_ , it'll be easy pickings."

Before he can snap back, a male Hunter rushes into the room, and Chris smiles to himself because from the panicked look on his face alone, he knows Allison and Stiles are alive. 

It drives the point home when Ella explodes after he whispers in her ear. 

"What the fuck do you mean _they're gone_?!" She snaps, whirling around to glare at him. "They were in a locked boiler room with nothing but the clothes on their backs!"

"When the dispatch didn't come back with Argent and Stilinski, we went looking for them. Got to the room they were locked in and the team was there. They're dead and the kids are gone." The brown haired man looks nervous. "We circled back, found them at the West wing two floors down. They're hurt, but the rest of my men are dead and Hale's in full possession of his mind."

Pride rushes through his veins and he glances down, hides the smile slowly creeping to his lips at the awe in the other man's voice. Sure with the Pack behind them, Allison and Stiles were something to be weary of, but when faced with the two of them, they were a force to be reckoned with, regardless if they had an Alpha there. They'd have to be as the only humans in a werewolf Pack. 

A gunshot rips Chris out of his musings and for a split second, he's fearful that he's just been shot. When his head snaps up though, it's to no searing pain and a dead body on the ground. 

"Never send a man to do a woman's job," Ella sighs, ignoring the slumped body in favour of tucking the gun into the back of her jeans. "You know how the saying goes; if you want something done right, do it yourself."

The room shakes then, sounds of gunfire and shouting echoing through the empty building and on several radios strapped to chests of Hunters. A relieved sigh passes through his lips unbidden. 

"Considering the fact my daughter and Stiles have escaped and with the Pack now arriving, I'd disagree." Chris says, laughter welling in his chest. He gives her a smile. "Looks like Daddy _definitely_ won't be pleased."

The Huntress lets out a poor imitation of a growl, pulls a blade from out of her thigh holster, and shoves it up under his chin, serrated teeth nipping at his skin m. "They're all going to die anyway, Argent. It's just now you won't be there to watch your daughter bleed out when I gut her."

Before he can even think to slam his forehead in her face, there's dull thuds from above then cracking, and right before his very eyes, the ceiling gives in, chunks of cement landing on a few Hunters and even knocking them out. 

Taking advantage of Ella's momentary distraction, Chris hooks his feet around her ankle, before throwing his weight back against the chair. The chair tilts back and he rolls with it as he hears the Huntress fall, ends up in a crouch with the seat's legs in his unbound hands. 

Ella's up to her feet, but he swings the chair around and smacks it into her back, watches her fall to the ground as Erica and Jackson drop into the room with a snarl. They instinctively stand before him as the rest of the Pack descend from above.

"What took you guys so long?" Chris snaps, accepting the thrown thigh holsters from Isaac and handed guns from Lydia. "Waiting for an engraved invitation?"

The red head rolls molten eyes at him, before launching herself at the nearest Hunter with a growl. 

"Scott's gone to find Stiles and Ally," Boyd tells him from behind his left shoulder. 

Chris startles and turns, sees a dead man on the ground, throat missing and blood smeared across the young werewolf's face. 

He nods his thanks, points his gun and fires at a man readying to shoot Isaac. "Any way you can get into contact with him?"

There's a clatter on the floor near him and he bends quickly, picks up the walkie thrown to this feet.

"Why?" He hears Erica shout, a snarl following her words, when a gun goes off in her direction. 

Dodging a punch thrown his way by a brunette female, he throws his own fist forward, countering a kick with a hard elbow to the throat and tossing her to the side. Lydia's on her just as she lands, mouth closing around her throat. 

Making sure it's on the right channel, he radios to Scott. "Derek's alive and he's here." He says into the talkie and to the room. "He's with Allison and Stiles."

He feels the growl emit from the Pack as sure as he can hear it. Chris sees Boyd throw a Hunter across the room before tossing his head back, a howl filling the room and ringing in his ears. 

Like all the other humans in the room, they clap hands over their ears with a wince and it's only then, Chris realises that Ella's disappeared. 

"Fuck!" He snaps, firing at two men to his left. Going for the door, he spares a glance at the werewolves now having the upper hand, if by the upper hand meaning Jackson's jaws wrapped tightly around a sandy haired man's throat. "Keep the throat ripping and killing to a minimum, it's a lot harder to clean up and explain away. I'm going after Madison."

"You leave them alive," Erica demands, clawed hands gripping necks and holding their owners to one of the cement walls. "They fucked with the Pack and that's how they're gonna die; by our hands."

Chris fights against the urge to argue with her because like the Code he once stood by, werewolf Packs across the world have their own. 

If a Hunter would go rogue, it was up to the neighbouring family or a relative to eliminate them; very much how Chris knew werewolves handled a feral werewolf on the loose. Hence the reason why Laura and then Derek came back to Beacon Hills when random animal kills were being found. 

When he, Stiles, Allison and Derek met together to forge the alliance between the Hale Pack and the Argent Clan, they combined the two rules into the one; adding on that it would be both parties to do the eliminating of any threat. It not only guaranteed a clean kill but also showed trust. 

With that in mind, Chris nods his assent before running out the door, the sounds of snarls and shouting echoing behind him. 

~

They're running up another flight of stairs, just about to open the door to exit the stairwell, when there's a loud howl echoing in the building. 

Allison and Stiles freeze, Derek's ears perking up and body tensing, before letting out a happy yip. 

"Boyd," she breathes, a smile beginning to form on her face. It disappears though as a body flies through the exit doorway and pins her to the wall. 

She hears a growl from Derek, the sounds of a gun being cocked and then a "Dammit, Scott" before she realises who exactly it is, is hugging the shit out of her. 

Choking on a laugh, she buries her face in Scott's neck. "You scared me," she whispers, pulling away to glance up at him. Her hands come up to cup his cheeks, grinning when he nuzzles in the palm of her hand. 

"You _scared_ me," he replies, eyes taking in the bruises and blood smattering her face.

Allison has a brief moment where she thinks he's going to be disgusted with what he sees, but then she's given the sweet smile he gave her the first time they met, before his mouth slants over hers gently. 

"I hope he doesn't greet me like that," Stiles mutters in the background and she holds her middle finger up over Scott's shoulder, much to the delighted laugh she gets in return. 

"As much as I'm enjoying watching my best friend shove his tongue down your throat, I think we should focus on the problem at hand." He says, chuckling at the spleen squishing embrace he received from Scott. 

"We will in a second," her boyfriend answers, letting go in favour of stooping down low to throw his arms around Derek's neck, a low rumble in chest. 

Allison watches as the werewolves nose at one another, Scott cupping the Alpha's cheeks to bring their gazes together, his eyes flashing gold in response to Derek's crimson. "Don't you ever leave us like that again, Derek. You hear me? If I have to make like a turtleshell and ride around on your back, I will."

Letting out a chuff, Allison watches the wolf lick a broad swipe up Scott's face, starting from just under his chin and stopping at the tips of his hair. His nose wrinkles but he grins happily. 

She narrows her eyes at Stiles when he opens his mouth, most likely commenting on how Derek just kissed her boyfriend with tongue. Stiles wisely closes his mouth, a pout pulling at his lips. 

"We've got bigger problems now," Allison scolded, shouldering her gun to prove a point. She raised an eyebrow, daring him to disagree. 

"Yeah, I know." Stiles coughs and nods, pout still in place. "Let's go."

~

Stiles doesn't remember much about how he ended up outside the building, doesn't actually remember leaving if he were to be honest, but here he was, surrounded by Hunters and flying arrows, bullets whizzing above his head. 

He's lost Derek and Allison somewhere in the sea of unidentified faces along with the Pack, but he can hear them snarling and fighting as sure as he can feel them breathing. It's just getting to one of them that seems to be the reoccurring problem. 

Panting, he sidesteps a kick to his ribs, palms held out to deflect the thigh going for his ribs, before wrapping his forearms around it and yanking. As he's pulled, his own leg lashes out, sneaker connecting with the dark skinned female's knee, a sickening crack meeting his ears. 

She lets out a sharp cry as she falls and Stiles would have held his strength back, but he's pretty sure she's broken one of his fingers. That in mind, he leans over her and delivers a punch hard enough to knock her out. 

He hears a familiar snarl from his left and immediately runs towards it, nearly colliding straight into Boyd taking on three Hunters at the same time. 

Stiles jumps on a well muscled man, legs wrapping around his torso and hands making quick work of snapping his neck with a hard jerk. As the body crumples to the ground he watches Boyd knock one hunter out and then the other in some punch kick combo that has Allison's name written all over it. 

The werewolf's eyes blaze molten when their gazes connect, a rumble in his chest barely heard over the cacophony of noise around them. He pushes down on the relieved feeling bubbling in his gut. They weren't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. 

"Text my father," he orders, eyes scanning his surroundings and not liking what he sees. "Actually, give me the phone."

Though Chris and Allison brought in their men and with the Pack on their side, it was a losing battle. There were more of Ella's men than Stiles could comprehend and it worried him, despite more than half of them being taken out. They still had all these Hunters to fight and though they posed a threat and distraction, Ella was the main concern they needed to worry about. They needed help. 

"Do you really want to call him here, Stiles?" Boyd asks, throwing over his phone before pouncing on a Hunter advancing towards them. 

"We're all gonna die if we don't." He answers, tapping out his message before pocketing the phone just in time to dodge a body being thrown in his direction.

Looking up he sees Lydia, chest heaving and looking very much like an extra stepping out of some horror movie. There's noticeable slashes in the Henley she wore and a dark, wet patch of denim on her left thigh where it's been ripped open. "Dad's on his way, twenty minutes, tops."

She ignores what he's said in favour of snarling at him. "If you ignore the buddy system again --"

"Threaten me later, Lyds." He snaps, glaring. They don't have the time for this. "My father, _the Sheriff_ , is on his way with the rest of the police department. I'd like not to be here with bodies littering the ground when he gets here."

She nods, despite the stink eye telling him they were going to have words later, gaze darting around looking for the familiar crest that represented Allison and Chris on the Hunters' left arm. When finding one, she grabs him and says " _Ablaze_ is a go."

Stiles looks at her weirdly as the Hunter jerks his chin down, repeats it into the walkie talkie attached to his chest and getting an affirmative answer in reply.

"What the fuck is that?" He asks, watching her and the Hunter take off towards the building.

She grins, teeth startlingly white against the blood on her face. "You'll see."

~

John makes a grab for his phone that lays on his desk, pulls the text up and sees it's from Boyd. What's inside the message though, tells him that Stiles is alive, maybe hurt, but most definitely alive. 

_444\. In need of police assistance._

He grips the phone in his hands, presses it against his forehead and thanks God quietly. 

"What is it?" Danny asks, hands idle over the laptop he had placed on his thighs. A look of fear takes over his face and he stands up, moves closer to have a look at the screen. "Did something happen? Are they alright?"

"Hard to say." John tells him. "But I need you to change everything back, then call in and tell Sheryl about the lots on Russell Avenue. Tell her that you heard guns going off. And sound panicked, okay?"

As he's spoken, Danny had returned back to his seat, fingers flying over the keyboard before pressing enter. "Done." He says, then picks up the burned cellphone and quickly dials in. 

John watches Sheryl, a dark skinned woman from his office, startle at the sudden phone ringing beside her before answering with her usual chirpy greeting. 

"Thank God," Danny breathes beside him, a shrill note taking on the edge of his voice. "There's something happening at the deserted place out on Russell Avenue! I can hear guns going off! Send help!"

He hangs up and glances up at John. "Drama club," he shrugs, answering his silent question. 

Sheryl clutches her chest in surprise at being hung up on before running straight into the centre of the room, hands flailing about as she relays the phone call to Parrish. 

The young Deputy all but sprints to his office door then, rips it open and explains quickly. "Got a situation out in the abandoned buildings. Rapid gunfire has been heard, so tactical armour on, boss."

He nods, sees the Deputies moving into action, a chorus of orders barked out for ammunition and vests. 

John makes a show of getting to his feet, shoves his arms through his bullet proof vest he has packed away in his drawer and connecting the Velcro straps together at his side. He lets out a sigh, takes a moment to rein in the panic pushing against his ribs before squaring his shoulders.

"Sheriff," Danny whispers, eyebrows raised. He looks a little green around the edges. "What's going on out there?"

"Not sure." John says, pulling the for-end of his shotgun back and hearing the satisfying click. "But I'm gonna find out."


	15. Chapter Fifteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She's probably already started," the curly haired wolf says, glancing back to the building, where noticeable black smoke is coming from within.
> 
> "Started what?" 
> 
> "Setting the buildings on fire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual warning; a lot of violence in here. 
> 
> With that said,
> 
> *throws this chapter and runs*

Jackson clutches at his ribs, harsh pants tearing through his mouth as he waits for his side to knit back together. He can hear Erica's pulse roaring in his ears and matching his own thundering in his chest, can taste blood that isn't his own coating his mouth and assaulting his other senses. 

All he wants is to forget the last few months altogether. He wants to curl up in a bed, the Pack or Lydia wrapped around him, sleep warm, happy and safe. The wound on his side is a scary reminder that that could all change tonight if they didn't fight, if they didn't _win_. 

A body slams into his from behind, knocking him to the ground and robbing what little breathe he has in his chest, blonde curls blocking his eyesight and getting caught in his mouth. Over his head, bullets fly. 

"Wake up, Jackson!" Erica hisses in his ear, hands scrabbling on his shoulders to toss him over her frame before her body is curling over his protectively. 

Jackson growls lowly when she whines in his ear, knows from the way she jolts against his back that she's been shot. 

He rolls over her and onto his hands and feet, lets out a snarl before pouncing, jaws and clawed fingers at the ready. It's a blur of pained shouts in his ears, the sticky warmth of blood on his skin and then he's panting again, sweat at his brow and a broken wrist cradled in the crook of his other arm. 

"Fuck," he shudders, eyes squeezed shut at the pain. He turns though when hearing a high pitched whimper, sees Erica's crumpled form and curses. "Okay, hold on, hold on! I'm coming!"

Grabbing the gun that shot her, he stumbles over to her, hand cupping the wounds in her lower back and hissing under his breathe at the black ooze and smoke seeping from it. He glances around first, making sure that no one's advancing towards them, before taking a moment to swallow in relief, when they're unnoticed. 

"I'm gonna have to pull them out, Erica." He tells her, shakes the last minute pains in his wrist away, before running soothing fingers over the nape of her neck. "Or else something bad's gonna happen."

When she nods shakily, he allows his claws to grow, says he's going to count to four and sinks them into the open wound at two. He tries to ignore Erica's agonising cries, but it hurts, especially when he's the one causing the damage. The hand he left around her nape tightens slightly, the veins under his skin going black from absorbing what pain he can handle, his own back beginning to burn at the transference. 

"Almost got it," He eases, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Grabbing the bullet, Jackson pulls one out quickly, winces in apology when Erica digs her claws into his thigh. "Three more."

"Just do it!" She hisses. 

He moves fast, pulls the bullets out before there's a handful of them and a lighter held out to him. They're cracked open in the next second, the capfuls of wolfsbane burned on the palm of his hand and then pressed into Erica's spine. She screams, body shuddering before she goes slack in his arms, chest heaving and soft whines coming from the back of her throat. He watches on as the black lines recede, the wounds healing into smooth, unblemished skin.

Limply, she lifts her hand and pats at his cheek in thanks. "Thanks Jacks."

He rolls his eyes fondly and lets out the breathe he'd been holding, lays a steadying hand on Erica's hip as he helps her to her feet. "I told you to never call me that."

Darting in, she smacks a gentle kiss to his forehead, not bothered at all that his face is smeared with dirt and spattered with blood. Hers isn't any better, to be all that honest. "You love it."

" _Ablaze is a go,_ " he hears a voice interrupt him, coming from someone's radio. "Repeat, Ablaze is a go."

"Thank fuck," Erica groaned, shaking her shoulders out, a grimace playing on her face. She ties her hair up into a messy bun and shucks her jacket off before tying it around her waist. "Let's round these assholes up."

He nods, links hands with the she-wolf and squeezes once. They both crouch with a snarl towards the upcoming Hunters, eyes flaring before they're launching themselves into the thicket. 

~

Derek's just managed to dodge a blade to the ribs, instead finds himself pinned to the ground when he's tackled, something smelling like wolfsbane wrapped around his throat tightly, and only getting tighter. 

He snarls, tries to twist his head around and sink fangs into flesh, but ends up having the double affects of having his breathing cut off and his skin burned. His vision tunnels, the snarl rumbling in his chest dropping off into a whine of distress, his plan to attack now turning into him struggling to get away. 

There's a shout of his name and then the restriction around his neck goes slack, the body that had been pressed on his back gone and replaced with one he knows. Allison's body cages his in, much like how anyone in the Pack would when making a statement that said _if you want them, you've gotta get through me first._

"You okay?" She whispers, narrowed gaze never leaving the Hunter splayed across the ground. Derek can see his chest rising and falling, can tell easily that he's unconscious. 

He nudges at her wrist that's conveniently placed near his nose, her other hand planted on the ground behind his head and holding her weight above him, fingers clenched around a discarded bow she must have picked up. 

"Something's happening," Allison tells him, getting up from her crouch, an arrow loaded and released into the back of a woman, another one taking its place before burying itself into a man's chest. "We gotta find one of the others, because we're seriously outnumbered three to one and we don't know what the plan is."

Derek gets to his paws before letting out a sharp bark, head twisted to the side as he tries to cancel out the cacophony of fighting and guns going off. Isaac answers with a loud yip somewhere ahead of him, and before Allison can so much as let out a yelp, he darts between her legs, hoists her up onto his back and dashes forward. 

"You asshole!" She snaps, fisting her fingers into his fur and knees digging into his sides. "You _know_ I hate when you do this!"

He chuffs back, dodging in and out of Hunters and nearly barreling into Isaac when he pops up in front of his nose, bloody and nursing a healing thigh, but alive. 

"What's going on?" Allison asks, accepting the nuzzle on the cheek from Isaac. "They're winning but they're falling back."

"It's all part of the plan," he explains, groaning as he pushes himself up to his feet, hand absently running down Derek's side. "Lydia's."

He and the Huntress share a look. Lydia's plans were vindictive on a good day but if you came in between her and those she loves with the intent to hurt or kill them. Well, her plans took on such a ruthless note that Derek was almost afraid for the Madisons' and her people. Almost. 

"She's probably already started," the curly haired wolf says, glancing back to the building, where noticeable black smoke is coming from within.

"Started what?" 

"Setting the buildings on fire."

~

Chris is running through the hallways, senses on high alert as he darts between Madison's men. They aren't who he's looking for and fighting them would only waste time he's not willing to give. 

Going through the exits in his mind, he takes a left and a flight downstairs to level one, where he knows is the only exit that connects the building to the roads of Beacon Hills, roads that should be filled to the teeth with John Stilinski and his Deputies by now. 

He knows he's taken the right one when he can hear movement and people talking in harsh tones ahead of him. His back immediately presses against the cool concrete wall as he slides along it, timing his steps with each exhale of breathe. 

" - we shouldn't be running!" He hears Ella snap when he's reached the corner. "We should be fighting!"

"If you wanna risk your life, then by all means, go ahead!" Josh retorts back. "But I'm going back to the Council, so I can get the resources I need to burn Beacon Hills to the ground." 

Chris steps up behind them, gun drawn and pointed at Ella. Though, her father is the real threat, she's still able to counterattack if needed. The older Hunter won't able to get far if he takes his daughter down first. 

"Have you lost your mind?" Ella snaps, a glare on her face. She's moved away from the car door to stand by her father's side, stance wide and defensive. 

"You kidnap my daughter and her friend, you tie me to a chair and decide to play patty cake with my ribs and face, yet _I'm_ the one losing my mind?" He shoots her an incredulous look and raises an eyebrow, moving his hand with a gun slightly to the right. "I'm going to enjoy watching whatever the Pack decides to do to you."

Her lips curl in a cheap version of a snarl. "You just don't get it, do you? We're just cleaning up the mess _you_ ignored!"

"And for good reason!" Chris snaps back. "This isn't right! It goes against the Code the Hunters before us set up!" 

"The Code has long been corrupted, long before you were born." Josh laughs them, delighted. "Your father was actually the one to show me the right way to get rid of these animals."

"And that's why I helped put him down." He says, staring him in the eye. "And why I'm gonna do it again with you."

He takes the shot he'd been holding, watches as Josh crumples to the floor, Ella's arms wrapping around him as he falls, her shouts echoing around them.

"Get up," he orders, both guns now pointed at her. 

Her bloody hands are shaking, the only tell tale sign that shows she's shook up. With another glare, she snarls outs, "You're gonna have to shoot me as well."

Chris tuts at her, "We've got bigger plans for you." He throws the muzzle end of his gun towards her temple and she's out cold, body laying next to her father's. 

~

"We gotta go!" Scott shouts, half dragging Lydia from where she was snarling at a Hunter scrambling away from her claws. "I can hear sirens!"

It'll be minutes before they hear the police cruisers careening to a stop nearby, and he's hoping everyone that doesn't have to be here right now, has already left or were about to. 

His thoughts are confirmed when he sees Jackson and Erica dart off back into the woods, - most likely hearing sirens too - and leaving the Hunters they'd just disbanded, to either make a quick getaway or help their comrades and risk jail time. It wasn't in the Pack's hands anymore, it was in the Sheriff's. 

"Where'd Chris park the cars?" Scott asks Lydia, still pulling her towards the tree line, her claws digging into his forearms. He has to ignore the urge to shake some sense into her. 

His question seems to do the job for him, snapping the red head out of her mission to rip every Hunter she sees apart. Stepping from his arms, she shakes out her shoulders before moving forward to lead the way. "West from here. Did everyone get out?"

He lifts his own shoulder, gaze turning back every few steps to make sure they're not being followed. "Erica and Jackson got out as soon as they heard the Sheriff's signal. I was with Isaac before we got separated. Not sure where he is. Never saw anyone else once we left the building's doorway."

"I was with Stiles and Boyd at one stage." Lydia answers, ducking under a low branch. "I left them to go help in the building."

Scott tries to ignore the still rising panic in his throat. The Pack knows they have to find one another if they get separated in a fight, one because it was clearly better to fight with help than by yourself. Two because if one was accidentally caught out of the loop, - mostly likely because they were taken - they'd be informed of the plan and instantly brought back into the fold. 

"You think it'll work?" He says, dubious. "Your plan with all those chemicals and burning them?"

The red haired she-wolf shrugs. "Doesn't really matter so long as Madison is there, wrapped up like a present on Christmas morning."

They both hit the clearing, sighing in relief when seeing six people already waiting, battered and bruised, but all alive. 

Scott launches himself at Allison and gives her a hard kiss, his hands lightly cupping her face. "Next time I'm going with you."

"I'll handcuff you to me myself." She grins, grips at his shoulders in return, crowds in until her body is pressed along his from chest to knees. 

"We gotta get him to Deaton," Boyd murmurs to everyone then, holding Stiles up, whose cheek is pressing down on Boyd's shoulder and nose buried in his neck. "He doesn't look too good."

Moving away from his girlfriend, he gently pulls Stiles into his arms, clutching him closer when he groans softly. "You okay?" 

"Nothing a hot shower, greasy burger and a good jerking off session can't fix," he replies, grinning with bloody teeth. 

Mentally cursing, he and Isaac help Stiles into the car, Derek already there in the backseat and curling around him protectively. Everyone else follows suit, falling into their seats with bitten off groans, Scott driving Chris' car and Lydia driving Stiles' jeep. 

Though he can't hear the rest of the Pack in the other car, he knows everyone lets out a relieved breathe as soon as they're at a reasonable distance, a sense of completion washing over them like gentle waves. It's soothing, it's home. 

It's Pack. 

~

John smells the smoke before he can see the flames, but he's still surprised when he rounds the corner in a cruiser to both abandoned buildings on fire. Parrish curses beside him, doesn't need the order to radio in the fire brigade as John throws his seatbelt back and flies out of the car. 

It had only been fifteen minutes since Stiles had text him, asking for help and fear seizes in his chest, robs him of his breathe and makes him stumble slightly. 

He can feel the heat emitting from the flames, can see bodies lying around like discarded trash, and it's only the shouts and cries for help that snaps him back to reality, because that could be his son calling for help, it could be anyone from the Pack. 

"EST on that brigade, Parrish!" He calls, rushing forward to see any clear passages into the building. 

"On route, boss!" Is his reply. 

"Grab the bodies!" He yells to the Deputies that had followed, "Pull them out of the way and find any survivors!"

It's a blur then, of shouts and smoke, of the sweat dripping in his eyes as he drags a wheezing man from the second building, fire fighters arriving on scene and doing their job of controlling and then distinguishing the flames. 

It isn't until he's bent over near an ambulance, hands on his knees and a face mask pressed to his mouth and nose from a paramedic, does he realise he didn't see anyone from the Pack. 

Not a single teenager. Not even Chris Argent. 

He clutches the mask closer, takes deep breathes in as the panic he'd pushed down, comes clawing its way back up his throat. 

Numbly, he pulls his phone out and sighs shakily when he sees an unread text from Boyd. 

_We all got out. At Deaton's. Everyone banged up, but okay._

John presses the phone to his chest and closes his eyes with another exhale. If Stiles thought he'd been strict when he was younger and caused mischief, he had another thing coming. He was seriously thinking of locking him in his own room and throwing the key away.

If he has to use his health - though completely fine thank you very much - he would. Stiles wasn't the only one to go for the weak spots. He had to have learnt it from somewhere after all. 

"Sheriff?" 

Looking up, he spots Parrish, just as dirty and covered in ash as him, his left sleeve burnt and showing a fresh bandage around his arm. 

He tugs the mask away. "Yeah?" 

"Some of the boys from the Fire Department are saying it was a chemical fire. Something you'd find in drug labs." His Deputy tells him, frowning before shrugging. "It's off the record though, but they're pretty confident."

John nods. "Anyone able to talk?"

"Just one. He's pretty adamant that he speaks to you and only you."

The Sheriff tilts his head in confusion but complies, not before thanking the paramedic that attended him before following. 

~

His confusion is cleared up though when he sees the familiar crest he's started to associate with Chris and Allison Argent. 

"I've got this," he tells Deputy Dawson and Parrish with a nod and hand to the arm. "Count of heads, though please, Deputy."

"Got it, boss." She says, wiping at her forehead. It doesn't do any good, just spreads the dirt and ash over her skin like paint. 

John waits patiently for his Deputies to get out of earshot before he turns to face the man. "Chemical fire? Drug labs?"

The green eyed Hunter grins, looking comfortable with his wrists cuffed behind his back. He's just as dirty, if not more than he is and sporting a newly formed black eye. "Ms. Martin's plan worked then. Burns any evidence of the supernatural kind and keeps people who don't know in the dark."

He jerks his head in acceptance, thinking that maybe Stiles was right about Lydia Martin being a goddess of mass destruction and intellect. 

"And who owns this metaphorical lab?" John asks. "Ella Madison?"

"Brunette. Nasty gash on her forehead and an even nastier attitude." He says, gesturing to where said female was cuffed and huddled against a police car, glaring mutinously at everyone. "She'll give you trouble no doubt."

He believes that. 

"Speaking of trouble." John pauses then, glancing down at him. "I uh -- I don't think I'll be able to let you slip away. They know your face and that I was with you."

The green eyed man smirks, pulls his arms from around his back to reveal they're unbound, a metal cuff hanging from one wrist. He wriggles his fingers twice. "Don't worry about that, Sheriff. I'll be gone before I even step foot in your Station."

Wondering about the training exercises Hunters such as he and Chris were taught, John wholeheartedly believes that too. 

~

John isn't going to deny it. He took immense pleasure in walking into the room and finding Ella Madison sitting cuffed to the table. The woman responsible for the Pack's pain. 

He'd seen what not having Stiles around did to them, the shudders and ripples of agony roll over them. But what happened when it was Derek that was separated from them? It was downright torturous to watch. There wasn't much he could do but just go along with it.

So, he knew that whatever was going to be said between he and Ella, shouldn't be heard by anyone but himself. He had made sure that no one was listening in before stepping in, told his Deputies that the men and women they had in their holding cells, were in need of processing before he made an important phone call to one annoyingly self righteous, Federal Agent Rafael McCall. 

"Ms. Madison," John says, sitting across from her. "Mind telling me why you decided to bring your drug cartels here to my town?"

The brunette Huntress lets out a snort, leans forward like she's about to tell him a secret before tucking her hands together. They're still smeared with blood. For her sake and his sanity, he hopes it's not Stiles'. "That what they told you? That I'm importing and deporting drugs?"

"And who's they?" He questions. "Because I'm talking about the multiple flasks, broken and intact, found on site with substances linked with chemicals used for narcotics. It doesn't help that the flasks were stolen from Beacon Hills High School two days ago. The day after you arrived here in town."

Ella's eyes turn thunderous, her jaw ticking visibly. "They're a lot smarter than I gave them credit."

He raises an eyebrow, acts clueless. "I'm getting the impression you know something I don't."

Her gaze darts to his name resting over his collarbone before back up to his. She smiles then. John tries not to be alarmed at how terrifying it is. "Should ask that son of yours what he's been getting up to while you've been at work. He might be able answer your questions better than I could." 

Even though he knows Stiles is safe, that he's far from her clutches, his heart slams heavily against his ribs at her words. He doesn't need to pretend to act defensive, can feel how taut his muscles are, eyes narrowed and fists clenched dangerously. 

"You stay away from my son." He warns, glaring. "Or you'll live to regret it."

"It's not me you should be warning to stay away, Sheriff. Stiles couldn't stay away if his life depended on it." Ella grins. An eyebrow arches up obnoxiously. "You have no idea what you have going on in your town, do you? I mean, you must know that something's going on here, you just can't seem to connect the dots. I can help with that, you know? My services for yours." 

She tugs on her cuffs knowingly. 

If this situation had played out months ago, John's man enough to admit he'd think about it. That he'd be tempted to take her offer. Oh, he wouldn't let her free regardless of whatever she'd tell him, but she didn't know that. He wasn't going to let a dangerous woman such as Ella Madison out of law's hands just like that. Set her free to do what she's tried to do to someone else's kids or family. No way in hell. 

He feigns curiosity though, eyes searching hers as he thinks of a way to play this out. 

"You know what my son's been getting into?" He murmurs, leaning towards her. "Why he's been lying to me?"

Ella's grin widens, like she knows she's won. "Very intimately. It's why I'm here in the first place."

"And the reason why is?"

"Cleaning up Argent's mess." She answers, rolling her eyes. "One he refused to do himself."

His eyebrows furrow. He knew the oldest Hunter was involved, but he didn't know what mess would prompt her to come barreling into Beacon Hills, guns blazing. "Argent? As in Chris Argent?"

"The very same. Though he's softened up now that his precious daughter has decided to sleep with a mutt."

"Excuse me?" He asks, pushing down the urge to snap at her. Scott was like his second son, - though he thinks he's going to have a lot more adopted teenagers in his house now - and werewolf or not, he'd protect him at all costs. 

"There's things that you'd believe are fairytales, Sheriff. Things that you won't even consider being truth. That there's people like myself, who've been at war with mindless beasts for centuries." Ella tells him, shaking her shoulders out and slumping in her seat. Eyebrows raised, she asks again, "Still wanna know what's going on in little Ol' Beacon Hills?"

John folds his arms across his chest, leans back against his own chair. "I have a burnt down lot due to your makeshift labs. I have more body bags than slabs in the morgue and I currently have a woman with a frightening list of expertise under her belt, threatening my son, trying to bribe an officer of the law and sprouting bullshit about fairytales. Anything I've missed?"

"If only you knew." The Huntress in front of him chuckles, clearly amused. "You can lock me up all you want with bullshit excuses, I'll be out in no time, doing what I do best."

"And what is it, that you do best?"

"I hunt. I kill." She answers with ease. "And your son just happens to protect the things I'm after."

"For someone who claims they can answer all my questions, you haven't done a good job." The Sheriff says, arms still crossed. "What does answer all my questions is the evidence piled up against you. If you want any type of deal, I suggest you start explaining and quickly." 

"Werewolves, Sheriff." Ella stated, not at all bothered with how crazy she might sound. "Your son is in a werewolf Pack. He's a Second, the highest position a human has ever been given before."

"Werewolves," he repeated, going for unimpressed. He brings a hand up to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. "If you tell me you're a vampire and that's the 'war' you've been fighting, I'm gonna ask if you've inhaled whatever it was you were cooking in that building, because _this_ is a bunch bullshit."

"Believe what you want, Sheriff." The Huntress continued. "I have no reason to lie."

"Except the insanity plea maybe." He wondered out aloud, frowning. 

"What do you think did this to me?" Ella gestures to the side of her face, where four identical scars dance from the apple of her cheek and down her jawline. "Because it wasn't no mountain lion you seem to keep blaming everything on. It was an abomination, something that shouldn't exist in this world but does."

"I've heard enough," John interrupts, standing up and moving towards the door. "If you truly believe in werewolves then you definitely deserve the insanity plea."

"What about our deal?" Ella snaps, hands tugging on the chains. "You'd let me go if I answered your questions."

He faces her and smiles. "You were never leaving this Station without cuffs on you, Ms. Madison. I don't know where you got the impression you would."

"Once I get out of here, and it's not the question of if but when," she snarls, struggling in her chair. "I'm going to skin your son alive, and I'm going to make you watch and listen to him scream."

John huffs out an laugh, hand coming up to run his fingertips idly across his jaw. From the startled look on Ella's face, he knows it's a cruel one. He steps back over to the table, plants his hands on the smooth surface and brings their gazes in close. 

"Derek and the Pack should have ripped you in half, so if I were you, I'd thank my lucky stars that they're not the beasts you claim them to be. As for you getting out, I wouldn't bet my life on it because you see, one of those werewolves you attacked, has a father in the FBI and I'm sure he'd _love_ to get his hands on you." John whispers, thrilled at the wide eyed look he receives, jaw dropping open to gasp out. "So Beacon Hills isn't just protected from local law enforcement but State. Adding in the Argents and a Pack full of werewolves, I'd say I'm well versed in what's going on in _my town_."

With that said, he winks, pushes away from the table and saunters out of the room, Ella's loud cursing following after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, okay. I have no idea how the American law system works, seeing as I don't actually live in the US. I also failed Science and didn't even attempt to learn Chemistry because why torture my brain for fun, right? But this story is about werewolves, so can we play pretend that I know about stuff? Please?
> 
> Also. Yeah. This took a while didn't? I'M SO SORRY. I LOVE YOU AND YOU'RE ALL BEAUTIFUL BABES FOR WAITING FOR ME, OKAY?
> 
>  
> 
> [come scream at me here](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com)


	16. Chapter Sixteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were never going to be the same Pack bound together by little time and shaky alliances, but maybe, hopefully, they'd be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this. Truly. I can't apologise enough for the lateness. Hopefully 5k of words can soothe the hurt for waiting for so long. 
> 
> I am posting this kinda quickly. I only had some time to run a critical eye over everything. So if there's mistakes, let me know and I'll fix them. 
> 
> I love you all for being patient with me! You're all beautiful!
> 
> You can come yell at me [here.](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

"Come on Stilinski," Jackson snaps, though his fingers are gentle when he taps a dirty cheek. "Stay with me."

"Am sleepy," he says, batting his hand away weakly. "Leave m'alone."

"No, you need to stay awake. You've got a really bad bump to the head. Don't know what will happen if you fall asleep."

"Jus' have curly fry." Stiles slurs, shifts into Jackson's embrace to settle in more comfortably. "An' root beer."

"Scott," Erica says, from the front seat. Her voice is shaky, and he can hear her heartbeat racing. "Hurry."

Jackson feels Argent's car jolt forward and both he and Derek curl up tighter around Stiles to keep him firmly in place. 

"Hey, hey," he murmurs, leans in until his nose is tucked under Stilinski's ear. "Do you remember what happened on my fifteenth birthday? When I had the pool party?"

"You pulled my pants down in front of everybody." He murmurs, eyebrows furrowed. Brown eyes flicker up to his and they narrow. He then adds after a few seconds of staring mulishly, "Asshole."

Jackson laughs weakly as Scott and Erica huff out a choked snicker. "Yeah, you were wearing duck underwear."

" _Daffy_ Duck to you." 

"At least they were clean."

"My underwear is always clean," Stiles says tartly, showing a lot more life than the passed ten minutes in the car. 

Scott glances at him in the mirror, a weak grin on his face and nods at him in encouragement. At the same time, Derek nudges his thigh with his nose, a silent _keep him talking._

"You got me back though." Jackson laughs again, remembering the pink glitter bomb that had gone off when he opened his locker the next week after his party. It had Stilinski written all over it, though he denied it vehemently. He kept finding glitter _everywhere_ for _weeks_ afterwards. "What'd you do?"

"Not tellin' you. You'll get mad." Stiles replies, eyes sliding closed. 

He tries not to look at the blood that's coating his arms and legs, the sticky fluid catching on Jackson's clothes. He can't even find it in him to be annoyed, only pure panic pushing at his ribs and making his chest feel too tight. It was always the same reaction when it came to one of his Pack members bleeding out. 

It's Erica's voice that startles him out of his head, "Batman, you awake? Stiles?"

He doesn't answer, just continues to breathe slowly. 

"Stiles!" She snaps, turning around and running shaky hands over any part of him she can reach. She shakes him gently, only stopping when she gets a sharp growl from both Jackson and Derek. "He's not waking up!"

The Alpha leans up and swipes her cheek lightly in apology. Erica lets out a harsh breathe and buries her face in his neck, fingers digging into mattered fur. 

"How much longer?" He asks, tightening his grip around Stiles and grabbing Erica's hand in his.

"Around the corner." Scott answers through gritted teeth. Jackson can see him place his own hand on Erica's thigh, only to be linked with hers when she reaches for it, connecting them all together.

He breathes a little easier. 

"Hold on, Stiles." He whispers, resting his forehead on his friend's. "We're almost there."

 

~

 

Lydia throws the Jeep in park as Scott and Jackson carry Stiles into the Clinic, Derek and Erica following closely behind. Isaac and Boyd don't even wait for her to stop the car completely, before her seat is shoved forward and her door is ripped open, both of them literally catching the door as it closes behind Erica's back. 

Even though she wants to run after them herself, she gets out slowly and opens the passenger side door, and with gentle hands, shakes Allison awake. 

"Hey, we're here." She murmurs, brushing her hair out of her face, jaw clenching at the bruises blooming across her right cheekbone. 

There's an ugly split on her bottom lip and there's blood smeared in the corner of her mouth. And that's only the things she sees, Lydia doesn't even know how the rest of her body is, if anything is broken or fractured. It makes her want to rip something apart with her teeth. 

"Lyds?" Allison asks, eyes barely open and dazed. 

"Yeah, I'm here. Come on, let's get you inside." Looping an arm around her waist, they both slowly walk over and inside, the sounds of Deaton's calm voice and medical supplies being shifted around getting louder to her ears. 

"Can you give me a run down?" He says, gentle yet strong hands cupping Stiles' face, a thumb sliding his eyelid open and flashing a light in his eye. 

"His left shoulder was dislocated but he popped it back in himself." Allison says before anyone can chime in, limping over to him and running gentle fingers through his hair. "Got some slashes to his arms and legs too. From there, I don't know."

Derek let's out a whine, shifts next to her and stands on his hind legs, nosing at Stiles' hip softly. Lydia watches as the Huntress presses her own hip against Derek's shoulder silently, their Alpha taking in her comfort without a word, if the body shuffling closer was anything to go by. 

"Let's get you cleaned up," Erica murmurs then, popping up on her right side, fingers closing around her wrist in a loose circle.

She was probably a dirty and bloody mess, something out of a horror movie. She glanced around and found that they all were. Lydia's past self would have been appalled. 

"No, Ally first." She dismisses, Isaac and Scott automatically following her order and pulling the Huntress into a chair to be looked over. 

"Can someone call my dad?" Allison asks, accepting the ice pack Boyd silently holds out for her and holding it to her right cheek. "I only saw him once and that was when he was dragging Ella out of the building."

"I'll do it. Gotta text the Sheriff too and tell him we're here." Boyd nods, places a light kiss to her forehead, then moves towards the waiting area, running soothing fingers through Erica's now loose curls as he passes, her hunched shoulders dropping a few inches at his touch. 

"You alright?" Jackson murmurs, standing by her side. 

Lydia slumps into his, cheek resting against the ball of his shoulder. "Just want this nightmare to be over."

"It almost is," he says, nose burying in her hair, "Once Stilinski is back to himself, it'll be just like he never left."

She looks up at him then, heart warm at the faith in Stiles he has. A few years ago, he would never have said those words, especially to the Lydia back then, who didn't even know what a Stiles was to begin with. It's probably why she doesn't say anything now to disabuse it, because Lydia knows that the Pack returning to what they were wasn't an option. A lot of knives had been shoved into people's backs and paths that once joined, now had gaping cracks in them. 

They were never going to be the same Pack bound together by little time and shaky alliances, but maybe, hopefully, they'd be better. 

 

~

 

"He's gonna be okay, right?" Erica says, frown playing on her face. It feels weird with her face covered in dirt and blood, her skin feeling stiff and stretched thin, but she ignores it for now. There were more important things to worry about than her appearance and hygiene. "He was talking in the car, but he wasn't making much sense for awhile."

"That's probably from the mild concussion he's got," Deaton replies, wiping the blood from his hands. Erica swallows back the bile in her throat. Still, after all the fights they've all been through, it unnerves her to see her Pack's blood anywhere but were it was supposed to be: on the inside. "But I might need a professional diagnosis on that one."

"Boyd, call my mother too please." Scott calls out from behind her, helping Isaac out of his bloody henley. He'd been burned by a mountain ash infused blade when he was stabbed, but luckily the wound wasn't as deep as they thought. 

There's an answering rumble from the waiting area and the rolling sensation in her stomach soothes a little. 

Erica reaches out her hand and links her fingers with Stiles', the veins in her arm going black from withdrawing his pain. Her body throbs as one huge ache at the transference, and she leans down to nose at his cheek gently, eyes closing as he unconsciously moves into the caress like he knows it's her. The tension in her body disappears all together. 

"You better wake up soon, Batman." She murmurs in his ear. "You better not die on me, or I'm gonna be pissed."

"He's not in a critical condition, Erica." Deaton says gently, smile soft and patient. "A few bumps and bruises, yes, and some stitches most definitely, but far from anything that's in need of threats. He is exhausted though, as well as the rest of you, so sleeping for awhile will do him and you some good, both for the physical and mental healing."

"I know, I know. It just feels like we've just gotten him back and now this? My instincts, my wolf, she doesn't like it and it makes me want to pace and scream, makes me want to tear into something, _into someone_ and make them pay--" 

Arms wrap around her waist and then she hears in her ear, "Hey, hey, calm down. It's okay. We're all here, we're all okay. "

It's only then Erica realises her chest is heaving and her claws are out, eyes most definitely flaring gold. She does as instructed with difficulty, carefully removing her hand from Stiles', relieved that she didn't slice his skin open with everything else going on. Small miracles. 

Deaton seems to think so too if the relieved smile he gives her was any indication. He turns around and faces Scott and Isaac. "Mr. Lahey, I think you're next."

Turning around in the pair of arms wrapped around her, she digs her face into Allison's neck, her own arms all but clutching the brunette to her body. She's had a shower recently, her hair wet against her hands and her skin smelling like the soap Isaac uses. Erica inhales deeply, taking it all in.

"It's your turn to get cleaned up." Allison murmurs then, hand cradling her lower back and the nape of her neck gently. "Melissa's on the way to take us back to Scott's. You need to be a lot cleaner if you wanna get in the car."

She can't help but smile. "Last time I was like this, I accidentally smeared dirt on her seats and she made me clean it up with a toothbrush."

Allison grins down at her. "All the more reason to get outta these clothes. Come on, I'll help you."

Nodding, she follows Allison to one of the backrooms they had set up for showering, - and the like for situations like this - not once peeling herself way from Allison and happy that the Huntress didn't want to be apart from her either. 

Yes, healing and sleeping did sound good, especially if her Pack was surrounded around her, doing the same thing. 

 

~

 

"I've got a bone to pick with you," Lydia says, looking at Derek with narrowed eyes.

He's finally shifted back to his human self, seen Deaton, gotten clean and left to get his wits around him and rest. Despite the bandages wrapped around his torso, more to keep his insides from being on the outside, and some already healing bruises and cuts, she could see the affects of not being with the Pack. Dark smudges were under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken in, his skin looking sickly and clammy. 

"I'd say you look like shit but I think you already know that." She says, leaning against the doorjamb. 

"Not right now, Lydia." Derek sighs, face pinched when he tried to shift his body back to lean against the wall behind him. 

"Yes, right now!" Snarling, she grabs at her hair to the point of tearing it out. "Do you know what we've been through looking for you? What we've been through keeping away from Stiles _because_ of you!"

Crimson eyes flash in her direction and she bares her teeth in return. 

"Don't Alpha me into backing down, Derek." Lydia growls, taking a threatening step forward. "Because it won't work. This is your doing, you fix it. The amount of apologies you have for all of us are in the millions for this. Especially after this little stunt!"

"I didn't plan to get taken!" Derek snarls, pinning her again with crimson eyes. Lydia fights the urge to tilt her head to the side, throat exposed in submission. She wasn't going to give in, not on this. 

"No, but you planned to kick Stiles out of the Pack before even consulting us." The red head replies coolly, feeling more than hearing someone step up behind her. "I know it's because we'd all challenge you, but I still can't get my head around why."

"I don't have to explain anything to you." A low rumble echoes in Derek's chest, one that's telling her she's pushing her position in the Pack. 

She glares anyway. "You're right, you don't have to explain anything _to me_ , not yet, but you better explain yourself to Stiles, or else you're gonna have us to fight as well."

Lydia turns, not surprised to see the Pack behind her and eyes either Shifted or narrowed in promise. Jackson holds his hand out to her and she takes it, allows herself to be pulled from the room, not once turning to see Derek's face. 

She knows that her speaking out of line pushes the rift between Derek and the Pack a little wider, but if this ear bashing is the kick up the ass her Alpha needs to get Stiles back, then so be it. 

 

~

 

Stiles doesn't remember much from the car ride to Deaton's, just bits and pieces, blurred faces and scenery passing the window he'd been looking out of. 

He vaguely recalls glaring weakly up at Jackson for pantsing him on his birthday. And Jackson trying to get him to confess to the glitter bomb going off in his locker. No way in hell was he admitting to that, no matter how out of it he was. 

He also remembers hearing Jackson's voice plead, " _Hold on, Stiles. We're almost there_ " and can't help but think, did he really say Stiles?

 

~

 

When he opens his eyes next, he's staring up into a worried face with warm, brown eyes. There's a warm body to his right and a head tucked under his chin, the inky curls brushing against his mouth telling him it's Allison.

It's takes him a few seconds to understand where exactly he is, the last thing he truly remembers being dragged away from a fight by Boyd, and put into a car with Derek wrapped around him like a furry, living blanket. 

"Hey Mama McCall!" He grins sluggishly, wriggling slightly in delight at not having seen her in months. There's a disgruntled murmur coming up from his collar bone that stills his little shimmy. "Fancy you being here."

"Don't you sweet-talk me," she frowns hard, though her hands are gentle as she helps him settle back on the guest bed he knows is in the McCall household. "I should have your ass and Scott's for all the stress you've put me through these past months."

"Am sorry," he mumbles, hand reaching out to lace their fingers together. It took him a few tries until Melissa huffed out a soft laugh and did it for him, her grip strong and soothing. "Don't mean to be a problem."

Melissa sighs softly, sits by his side and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, one that sends a bittersweet ache through his chest. "You're not a problem, hon. You're just the reason why your father and I have more grey hair than usual."

Stiles jolts then, hissing out when his shoulder flares up in pain and his stomach aches from the elbow digging into it. "Where's my dad? Is he alright, does he know I'm alive?"

"God damn it, Stiles." Allison growls, blearily glaring at him before rolling out of bed. She grabs a pillow and one of the comforters and storms out of the room, grumbling about him being one of the worst people to sleep with.

He pokes his tongue out after her, feeling a little hurt. He was not. That was a toss up between Isaac and Scott. The former kicked while the latter snored up a storm. 

"He's fine and downstairs with the Pack. Probably on his way up if the Pack told him you're awake." Melissa tells him. They both smile when they hear familiar boots start up the staircase. 

They both go silent, patiently waiting until a figure stands in the doorway, a worried frown playing on their face. 

"Hey Dad," Stiles says, smiling. His racing heart rate slows at seeing his father whole and unharmed. He'd feared bringing him in would either get him hurt, or worse killed. Stiles swallowed the bile down and took calming breathes to soothe the rolling sensation in his gut. 

"I should lock you up in your room," he greets, but there's a helpless grin on his face as he rushes over to collect him up in his arms. His embrace is gentle, like he's handling glass but Stiles doesn't care, just buries his face in the curve of his shoulder and neck. He needs this as much as his father does. 

"You alright? You okay?" The Sheriff asks, pulling away to cup his face, thumbs sliding under his eyes in light swipes. "Do you need anything?"

"Just some water," Stiles mumbled, leaning into his touch. "And a big fatty, greasy burger."

His father chokes out a laugh as Melissa hands him a cup of water. "I can agree with that."

"Is everything said and done?" He asks, handing the cup back after taking measures sips. Melissa smiles and presses another kiss to his forehead before leaving the room, both Stilinski's watching her go. "Madison?"

"Handled," his father tells him, "With McCall with her men. Heard some talk about being locked up for some time. How long, I don't know, but she won't be back here, I can guarantee that."

A weight from his shoulders disappears at that, a relieved sigh passing through his lips. "Good. That's good."

"Remind me to never upset Lydia," The Sheriff says after a second of silent, looking dismayed. "She's a force to be reckoned with."

Stiles grins. "I told you, my moon and stars." His grin falls away though when he thinks. "What about Ella's father?"

"Chris Argent."

Oh. He's dead then. Stiles doesn't feel bad that he doesn't feel anything but ease. 

"Rest," the Sheriff tells him. "I'm sure the Pack will come up and see you later, but just rest for now, okay? Don't worry about that stuff until you have to."

He nods, smiles softly when he gets hugged again and says back "I love you too" when it's muttered into his hair. 

 

~

 

True to his father's words, the Pack - minus Derek - do come upstairs to see him. And by that he means, piling on him and refusing to let go. 

Stiles just sucks it up and settles his head more comfortably on Lydia's stomach, sandwiched warmly between Boyd and Isaac. 

 

~

 

Stiles has just managed to get out of the shower with a still tender shoulder, and into a pair of sweats when his father knocks on the bathroom door. 

"Gotta visitor," he says, voice muffled. "In your room."

He raises an eyebrow at that, head halfway through the neck hole of his shirt. Usually if it were any of the wolves, - bar Lydia, who walked into the house like she owned it - they'd just summersault into his room like the supernaturally inclined assholes that they were. Allison used her copy of the house key, but always texted him first that she was coming over. They kinda had an accidental walk in that involved her finding out what type of lube and sex toy he preferred, an incident she still doesn't let him live it down on. Though, she says her orgasms changed now that she has her own similar toy and likes that lube better than Scott's, who pouts whenever the subject is brought up. 

Boundaries, who needs them?

Eyebrows still furrowed, he shoved his way into the shirt and opened the door to face his father, head tilted to the side. He doesn't wince anymore at seeing the bruises smattering his face or that his arm is in a sling, just runs his gaze over his skin in cool indifference. Stiles wonders if that's a good thing or not. 

"Are you sure you're up for having visitors?" The Sheriff asks, eyebrows furrowed. "You've only been back home for two days."

"I'm fine, dad." He reassured, smiling. "I'm honestly excited to sleep in a bed alone. The Pack didn't give me much breathing room back at Scott's house."

Which hadn't been bad the first few days. But after being constantly coddled and followed into every room - including the bathroom - it got a little stifling after awhile. He wasn't blaming them, not with all their instincts going into overdrive, Stiles just needed some room to breathe. 

He had no doubt though he was going to wake up with at least one werewolf in bed with him. 

"Go on then," John shoos him away, bringing him out of his musings. "Don't leave them waiting."

He isn't expecting to see Danny perched on his bed when he steps into his room, a book clenched in his hands like it's the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

Stiles had sat in shocked silence when Boyd and Lydia made the offhand comment about how they told Danny about the Pack. He wasn't upset by any means necessary, just shocked. And the fact that they probably didn't explain all that well about the supernatural world and what part they played in, so was Danny. 

"What's up, Danny boy?"

"What the fuck happened to you?" The dimpled teen blurts out, eyes wide when he sees him. "You look like someone shoved you into a washing machine and pressed spin."

Stiles grins, despite the sting of his healing lip. "Hazard of knowing about werewolves." The grin fades though when Danny flinches at his words, tightens his hands around the book he's holding. "Hey, you okay?"

There's a silent pause between them that Stiles takes the opportunity to sit on his desk chair and wheel it closer to where Danny is. 

"Dude, talk to me." He murmurs, reaching out a hand to place on his wrist. He drags his thumb over the delicate skin in soothing swipes, usually only does it when Jackson needs the comfort, but it's clear Danny needs it now too. It seems to work, his shoulders slowly slumping from their tense position by his ears. 

"In the cafeteria that day." Danny starts, fingers relaxing around what is clearly Lydia's hardcopy of the Bestiary. Guess Lydia did try and explain the supernatural world. "When you mentioned you and Allison being in a werewolf Pack. You weren't lying."

Stiles blinks in surprise - he'd honestly forgotten about that day - before shaking his head. "No, I wasn't. At the time I just wanted to -- I don't know. Vent. Scream. I couldn't do that in public, so I chose the next best thing. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that to you."

Nodding, the dimple in each cheek deepens. "Would Jackson and Lydia have told me if you and Allison weren't in trouble?" He glances up at him from under his eyelashes, looks hurt at the prospect of his best friends keeping this from him. 

"I'm not sure." He answers, hand moving down to squeeze Danny's gently before pulling away. "It was a Pack decision to keep it hidden, Derek's most of all since he's the Alpha. He has his reasons, understandable ones, but this time round it was inevitable. We needed someone with your particular skills."

"So, I'm just a tool to be used then?" Danny suddenly snaps, glaring. "Whenever you need someone to hack into something?"

"Look, it might seem like that, but that's not the case. Keeping the Pack hidden was just as much as a safety precaution for us, as it was for the people in our lives who don't know." Stiles explains gently. He shifts onto his bed next to him, wincing when the movement jostles his shoulder. "I'm not gonna lie and say that you knowing your way around a computer is a hardship, because it isn't. But from past experiences, our friends and family that don't know, tend to find out in traumatic ways anyway."

"You're telling me," he says wryly. "I still look over my shoulder expecting Erica to be there, fangs and all."

Stiles grins before glancing away. "I can get her to apologise for that. She's never had much manners."

"Aren't you afraid she might -- you know?" He makes a vague gesture with his free hand near his throat. 

"The only harm Erica can do to me is squeeze me too tight when she hugs me, and even then it's a minor thing." He explains, squirming around until his legs are folded under him. "They all have awesome control over their werewolf counterparts, so it's not something I worry about."

"Because you're Pack?" Danny questions, fingers tapping an unknown beat against the book in his hand. 

"Yes, but because we're friends too. We were friends before we became Pack, it actually took some time before that happened." Stiles eyes narrow slightly, wondering where this is leading, before he gets it. "Jackson and Lydia would step in between you and anyone that would want to try and harm you, they'd _never_ do the harming themselves."

"Then why do I I feel as if they'd shoved a knife in my back? They lied to me, to my face multiple times." Danny swallows. "You all did."

"I'm not saying this to make you feel better, but you weren't the only one to have been fed lies." Stiles murmurs, shrugging weakly. "We did what we thought was the right thing, and at the time it was because a lot of shit was happening. Shit that had people killed."

"So, what am I supposed to do now that I know?" Danny asks, fingers opening the Bestiary and showing Lydia's cursive writing. 

"Well, I think you should talk to Jacks and Lyds first. To see that they're the same people we all grew up with, just with a little something extra now."

He nods, accepting this. "And what about the rest of the Pack?" 

Stiles smiles. "Baby steps. Get used to the idea of Lydia and Jackson being werewolves, _then_ face the Pack. Don't worry too much though, it's gonna be alright."

 

~

 

Stiles should place bets on this type of thing because he _knew_ someone would be in his bed when he woke sometime during the night. 

"Goddamn it, Isaac!" He groans, "Let go of my leg, I need to pee!"

 

~

 

He's been back at his house for nearly a week when he feels it. The tell tale, tingling sensation that he's been watched. 

"Get inside," he sighs, turning away from his laptop - a break he's willing to take from all the Chemistry homework he has - and glancing at his window. "You seriously need to stop with the peeping-Tom bullshit, you know?"

The window slides up after a moment of hesitation and Derek tumbles in, looking somewhat chastised. 

The Alpha's gaze runs up the length of him, eyes unreadable. It isn't until he reaches his arm still in its sling, the tape wrapped around his broken right ring finger and the bruises painted across his face, does he flinch. 

"What can I do for you?" He asks, leaning back in his chair.

"How are you?" Derek questions instead of answering. 

Stiles narrows his eyes. 

"Healing," he says, "But you know what it's like for squishy humans. We're not like werewolves who can instantly heal, we're just the _liabilities_."

The Alpha winces, eyes darting down in shame. "I deserved that."

"You deserve a lot more than that!" Stiles snaps, suddenly angry. "You should get a ten page written essay, partnered with diagrams about how much of an idiot you are! You kicked me out of our Pack, kept them away from me and in the process, nearly got me and said Pack killed, trying to save your stupid ass from psychotic Hunters!"

He realises he's pacing back and forth in front of Derek, like a caged animal waiting for the chance to attack. It's the same position they had been in last time Derek was in his room, this time the roles switched. Derek had paced while Stiles stood there and watched. The Alpha must realise it too because he's standing there frozen, completely tense and expecting a blow to come in his direction. 

"I didn't ask for that to happen." He tells Stiles calmly. 

"I didn't ask to be pushed aside, either!" He snarls. "Yet you decided it was your decision to make and did it for me! Sucks how someone can come along and weigh the options out before choosing for you, right?"

Derek's shoulders are hunched up by his ears, his arms tense and his fists clenched. He looks like he's about to go to war. It's good because Stiles is about three seconds away from launching a frontal assault. 

To his surprise, he does the complete opposite.

"I'm so sorry." Derek tells him quietly, and somehow it hits him square in the chest as if he had shouted it. "Really. I know I fucked up, I know I should have come to you and told you what I was thinking. I just didn't and now everything is ruined. Everyone's blaming me for it and they should. _I_ blame me."

Stiles feels like the strings holding him tall has been cut, leaving him tired and achy. He murmurs, "We had a good thing going. Why fuck it all up?"

"I was scared, okay?! I -- I was scared that something or someone was going to ruin what has saved me. Before with Kate, she nearly killed me by murdering my family and that was a Pack I didn't create, I was _born_ into." Derek swallows harshly, before taking a deep breathe in and connecting their gazes. "This Pack, _our_ one, was one I helped build. All of our blood and sweat and tears poured into this Pack and if someone came along and took that away from me -- I'm sure I won't survive it."

"Then why do it yourself?"

"When Ethan had me pinned, he said some shit about you leaving, I can't even remember now because it's not important, but it terrified me more than having his claws at my throat. The thought of you leaving wasn't something I could bring myself to think of." Derek says, hands wringing together tightly. "I just didn't take in account if I was the one to cut you out, that I wouldn't just be hurting myself. I'd be hurting the Pack and you. Especially you. I never wanted to hurt you, Stiles."

"But you did. You hurt everyone." Stiles reminds, eyes burning with unshed tears. "And I don't know how you're gonna fix this."

"It's why I'm here." The Alpha tells him. "It's selfish of me to ask, but I need your help in getting the Pack together."

His eyebrows furrow and he feels his head tilt to the side in question. "Why?"

"It's been brought to my attention that if I need things fixed, I gotta talk." Derek explains, smiling at him wryly. "It won't magically make everything okay, but it's a start. A good one hopefully."

Something in Stiles' chest loosens just a little. Smiling softly back, he says, "Here's hoping."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND YAY! Mama McCall has been written in. I can't believe it took this long to bring her awesomeness in. I'm kinda upset with my self.


	17. Chapter Seventeen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Why_ did you kick Stiles out of the Pack?” Scott asks, eyebrows raised, judging.  
>  The Alpha looks away from them, eyes downcast for another moment before he’s turning back to face them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *checks to see if pigs are flying and if Satan is wearing a fur coat due to Hell freezing over*
> 
> Yes, I know. It's been a looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong time since I've even touched this fic, but I am hesitantly back and willing to kick this fic in the ass if it so much as gives me trouble. I apologise for the wait my lovelies, let's hope and pray - if that isn't your thing, just wish really, really hard okay babies? - I can keep this momentum up.
> 
> This is a filler. There is nothing plot heavy here, just some things I needed to at least touch on, but a chapter is a chapter, I guess. 
> 
> Again, I apologise. 
> 
> Enjoy and stay beautiful!
> 
> You're more than welcome to come yell at me [here.](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com)

Meeting up with Chris Argent was usually an easy going affair, sometimes serious if something from the supernatural world came sauntering into Beacon Hills to fuck shit up, but usually it was pretty laid back. Today, two weeks after the showdown with the Madison father and daughter duo, is obviously not going to be one of those relaxed meetings.

“They’re going to send out more parties?” Stiles asks, disbelief colouring his words. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Hunters were vindictive like that when they were slighted. “Enforcers?”

“We knew this was going to happen.” Chris tells him, thumbing over the split on his bottom lip. His face is covered with bruises ranging from yellow to a sickly green slash blue, and he holds himself stiffly, like his muscles are protesting the very act of standing. “We took out a Hunting party with a Hunting party of our own, _Argent’s_ own. Killed a senior, retired Hunter and threw his daughter into the limelight as a psychopath. Of course this is going to have some backlash.”

Stiles sighs heavily, glancing at Allison with a frown pulling at his mouth. She doesn’t look any better, if he’s being honest. There’s a nasty bruise under her right eye and her lip is split like her father’s. She hold herself a lot better than Chris though, her ribs only slightly tender from whoever managed to get a few hits in before they were stopped, either temporarily or permanently, was entirely up to the young Huntress.

“What do you think?” He asks her, cupping his elbow and running a thumb over the sling he’s wearing. He had tried to go without it a few days after resetting it, but had been lectured to all extremes by Erica and his father, a duo he didn’t ever account for.

Boyd had told him after the blonde she-wolf had forced him back into the sling, eyes narrowed, daring him to try and take it off again, before she left the room to go get him some more painkillers, that she and the Sheriff had been close after he had helped her through a seizure.

Stiles had felt incredibly proud of his father taking charge like that, consequences being damned. He knew that if it were anyone else, there would have been blood and tears.

“We need to be ready,” Allison says, pulling him from his thoughts. “We can’t be scrambled like we are or else they’re going to rip us apart.”

“Okay, so what will these Enforcers want to see?” Stiles asks, glancing over at Chris.

“Usually it’s to see if the Pack in the territory is established, make sure no civilian that isn’t at least Pack adjacent is in the know and to make sure the Hunter family, that resides either inside or near the territory, has established their own dominance along the Pack’s.”

Well, we’re fucked then, he thinks a little helplessly, connecting his gaze with Allison’s. As established as he thought the Pack was, there were clearly some issues that went decidedly against that notion.

“And what if one of the two had more dominance than the other?” The young Huntress murmurs.

“They’d think that it would be means of war to get more control of the territory.” Chris answers, frown in place. “It’s happened before, I’ve seen it, been _a part_ of it even. A lot of innocent people got in the crossfire."

“Innocent people _were_ caught in the crossfire anyway,” Stiles says, not able to hold his tongue. He raises his hands in a placating manner, before either father or daughter could say anything. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to cause offense, just a lot on my mind.”

Chris nods, the rigidness of his shoulders dissolving away like it had never been there in the first place. “The Pack still not agreeing to meet Derek?”

“Nope.” Allison curtly replies, and before he could so much as open his mouth to answer she's standing up and walking up the basement stairs. “I’ll come back down when you’re talking about a plan.”

Slumping in his seat dejectedly, Stiles gestures up to where a door has been slammed shut. “ _I get it_ , you know? I totally get it, but if we have any chance of surviving any of this crap, and I’m not talking about the shitstorm that’s about to hit, I’m talking about full moons and alliances with you and others, _we need to be together_. All on the same page, working as one and all that jazz. I can’t even get them to hear me out, little alone get them to move their asses into their cars and go meet Derek.”

“Maybe it’s time to use rank then.” Chris replied, tilting his head to the side, eyes thoughtfully locked with the basement stairs his daughter had stomped up. “This is something that is hurting them, yourself and your Alpha.”

Stiles wants to laugh. The only time he’s ever used rank, and that’s with him actively _knowing_ , has been when they’d literally been fighting for their lives. Though he supposes with the way things are going now, they are in a fight for their lives at the moment.

“I can’t use rank over the Pack. It feels weird just thinking about me being in charge in any shape or form.” He tells the Hunter, honestly. “But I’ll mull it over anyway.”

Stiles doesn’t need to mull anything over because he knows deep down, he’s going to do everything he can to save everyone. And if that means outranking the wolves and one pissed off, human badass Huntress, he will because they need their Alpha back.

They _need_ Derek.

~

"Why should we?" Scott asks, glaring mutinously at Stiles. "Why should _you_?"

Stiles takes a deep breathe in and slowly releases it. He doesn't blame Scott or the rest of the Pack for being unanimous in letting Derek stew in his own angst, hell, Stiles was all up for dropping the Alpha like a wet bar of soap too. 

Thing was, they weren't out of the woods yet. The sit-down he had with Chris and Allison was proof of that. He had spoken a little more afterwards about these Enforcers on their way to Beacon Hills, all but interrogating the older man in his questions. He wanted to know the extent of how these Enforcers worked and from what he heard, it was going to be shit all around.

Sure, they were a little more fair and just than your average, shoot first and not worry about the questions later Hunters, but they were still Hunters. If they happened to see a Pack at the edges of being destroyed from within and with a somewhat rejected, just came back from being feral, Alpha, that was more than enough to start shooting. And if that wasn’t cause enough for a shit sundae, the Pack were still having those excruciating spasms, though this time Jackson had nearly choked on his own bile. If it hadn't been for Isaac being with him, albeit panicking as he helped, Stiles isn't sure what would have happened. All he knew was, it was getting more than worse now, it was getting life threatening. 

Deaton wasn't any help when Stiles had visited him on his way from the Argent house, just kept repeating that _bonds had to be mended_ while forgetting that his life had little to do with Merida, bears and her mother and also that he knew what he had to do, he just didn't know _how_. 

Despite freeing Derek from Madison's metaphorical claws, the Alpha was still at arm’s length with the Pack. And if they wanted to get better, if just to deal with the Hunters backlash, personal space had to be somewhat sacrificed for the greater good. 

"I don't like this any more than you do, buddy." Stiles sighed, slumping against Boyd's side. "But we need to figure out something. We're toeing a dangerous line here, Derek included. If we're still getting the effects of being separated, he's gotta be feeling it too. And if we lose him mentally, _again_ , I'm not sure we can get him back."

There was an annoyed huff from his left, and he barely held back the grimace that wanted to be let free. Despite her threat to tell Lydia and Erica how exactly Derek came back from being feral, Allison had kept close lipped about the whole thing. Whether or not she was going to use it for a later date, he didn't know. It was entirely likely that the Huntress was going to sell him out at a later time, but Stiles was nothing but optimistic in his low chances. 

"What do you have in mind?" Jackson asks sarcastically from his right. "Trust falls and little get togethers to get shit off our chests?"

Stiles glares at him over Isaac’s curls. "If that's what it takes, then yes."

"This is all his fault." Lydia hissed, rolling off her mattress and stomping out of the room. "Why should we even give him the time of day?"

"He's still our Alpha, Lyds. I'm just as angry as you are with the situation, but we need him." Isaac calls after her, wincing when there's the sounds of her jaws snapping from the bathroom. "I don't particularly want to lose my mind and go on a killing spree while a bunch of trigger happy Hunters are in town."

"No one's going on a killing spree or losing their mind," Erica says firmly and in that moment Stiles could kiss her. "We'll figure something out, we always do."

It's silent around them, Lydia walking back to her room and leaning against her doorframe to stare at him.

"What do you want us to do?" She questions, arms crossing over her chest and eyes flaring molten.

He’s never seen so much eye flashing since Scott was bitten and having trouble trying to reign it all in. He’s not sure if it’s because their control is slipping, or if it’s because they’ve been mentally stretched far from not having their Alpha’s presence around to ground them.

"Hale house, ten minutes." He tells them, slowly pushing Isaac off his lap and then himself up from Boyd’s side.

He sees Jackson and Scott open their mouths to protest from the corner of his eye, and he snaps his head over in their direction to stare them down with a glare.

“We _will_ be killed if we don’t have Derek and vice versa.” he tells them lowly, teeth bared. “So get your asses in the car and follow me to the house. _Now_.”

Scott and Jackson expose their throats at Stiles, a soft whine echoing in their chests, as everyone else slowly gets to their feet, their own gazes averted and shoulders slumped in submission.

Stiles closes his eyes and shudders, feeling like there’s thousands of bugs crawling over his skin. He didn’t like what had just happened, but it wasn’t like he had _known_ it was going to happen, it just _did_.

“It’s okay,” he whispers when both Jackson and Scott slink over to him to nuzzle at his face and chest. “It’s okay, we’ll make it through this. I know we will.”

If he sounds a little desperate in his words of reassurance, well no one needs to know. Especially because he isn’t so sure if they were for the Pack or himself.

~

Derek honestly looks like how Stiles feels. Worn down, tired as all fuck and completely at his wit’s end. There’s a small vindictive part of Stiles that rejoices in seeing it, in seeing the physical proof of how sorry the Alpha is for pushing him out of the Pack and for starting all this mess.

There’s a bigger part of him though, one that eclipses that rejoice, that’s just pity. Derek didn’t _mean _to do the damage that’s now running through the Pack, but this could have been all avoided; the pain they were all feeling, the Hunters out for blood, the complete limbo Stiles found himself in, if Derek had just _trusted_ him explicitly as he did the werewolf.__

____

____

“Thank you all for coming,” Derek tells them, smiling a little weakly.

“We didn’t do it for you,” Lydia says, icily, chin tilted up in defiance.

Stiles wants to hide as much as he wants to smack a palm across his eyes.

The Pack had made it quite clear where they stood and it wasn't on their Alpha's side of the room. They were more or less squished on the three seater couch with him, Scott to his right and Jackson to his left with Lydia in his lap. Boyd was at his shoulder against the chair arm, Erica leaning back against his front, her arms crossed over her chest and a dangerous glint in her eye. Allison was perched between Scott’s knees and Isaac was between Stiles’.

They looked like they were getting ready to take a solemn group photo shot.

Derek nods with a harsh exhale, sitting almost ramrod straight in the seat across from them. He takes a moment to breathe in a few times before he clears his throat awkwardly. “I just wanted to apologise to you all. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t taken liberties without consulting with you all first.”

“ _Why_ did you kick Stiles out of the Pack?” Scott asks, eyebrows raised, judging.

The Alpha looks away from them, eyes downcast for another moment before he’s turning back to face them again. “We nearly lost Stiles the night Ethan attacked and I thought if he wasn’t in the Pack anymore, it would protect him, keep him safe and alive.”

Stiles startles at his confession. Derek hadn’t told him that in the safety and privacy of his own room, the night he crawled in through the window. He supposes that there wasn’t much room for that type of admittance, what with how Stiles went straight for an argument. He’s honestly lucky that his father had been called into the Station three hours before, to go over the last reports of the Hunters that belonged to Madison. He’s sure if his father had barged in and seen Derek, bullets would have likely went flying.

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” Allison says, voice almost gentle, despite the way her jaw is clenched. “We all chose this, each and every one of us, you don’t get to make the choice that decides against it.”

Derek nods. “I know that now. Stiles and I –“

"Whoa, whoa. There's _no_ Stiles and I." He interrupts, waving his hand in front of him in a cutting motion. "Just because I agreed to get everyone here doesn't mean we're on good terms. We still have a lot of crap to work out."

Crap like the sharp knife still imbedded between his shoulders, just out of reach of his own hands to pull free. Crap like the kiss they shared in his bedroom weeks ago.

He swallowed at the reminder.

Stiles had pushed that kiss to the back of his mind because there had been more important things to worry about. But now, with everyone relatively and momentarily safe and whole and _with him_ , he couldn't ignore it anymore. The Alpha's touch had left his skin feeling too hot, his kisses even more so. Stiles felt like he'd been clutched to Derek's chest and pinned into place by the door, a place between keeping him close and keeping him at arm’s length. An action that spoke volumes of who Derek really was; a cautious, burned man with enough trust issues to even sabotage his own chances of happiness.

But then Derek had called the Pack "our pups", which isn't all that unusual. Whenever Derek went into Alpha Mode, a switch would be sometimes turned and that's just how he saw them. It was rare but not out of the ordinary. What was though, was the word _’our’_. When Derek said it, it was more than just a loose term of ownership for Derek, it was a claim over the Pack. A title. A title to what, he didn't know but one nonetheless.

One that he shared _with_ Derek.

It made some sense to Stiles, in the way that it was brought to his attention that he had taken over Scott's position as Second, but Stiles felt it meant something a little bit more important, like it had more power than the words were letting on. He didn't know what that meant but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to find out. 

Derek looks like he's been smacked in the face before he recovers with another nod, looking several types of put out and wrecked.

“Besides, we have more pressing matters at the moment,” Stiles continues, swallowing at the ugly taste in his mouth. It tastes awfully like guilt. For what, he’s not sure. He shouldn’t really feel guilty.

He hasn’t done anything wrong. Besides throwing Kate in Derek’s face the night Deucalion died, Stiles doesn’t know why shame is growing in his stomach, thick and heavy.

Scott subtly shifts his body a little further into his space and Stiles welcomes it with silent gratitude.

“What is it?” The Alpha asks, shoulders straightening out from its hunch.

Stiles nods at Allison, let’s her take the reign in this while he quietly tries to calm his frazzled mind. Everything just seemed too much at the moment and all he honestly wanted, was a minute just to breathe.

“Dad says the Council is sending out Enforcers,” The Huntress informs everyone, mouth twisted into determined frown. “Says that they’ll be a lot more subtle in their recon, but if it doesn’t meet their requirements, we’re basically all dead.”

Derek sighs and rubs his eyes a little too hard for a human to handle and Stiles winces at the sight. “Do we have a time frame?”

“They travel by car,” Allison says, thoughtfully glancing at Stiles. “Won’t risk getting on a plane if they’re going to be armed to the teeth, so two weeks, maybe three?”

“Sounds fair.” Stiles nods in agreement. He pauses to look at everyone before clapping his hands once, decidedly. “Well, that gives us a week and a half to like each other again. Yay!”

His body sags into Jackson's when he’s met with a lot of cut off growls and mutters of protest from his side of the room.

~

“Even though I know they wanted to be anywhere else but here,” Derek says, after they’ve watched a familiar Porsche tear out of the driveway leading away from the Hale house. “Thank you for bringing them around.”

Lydia and Jackson were the last to leave, choosing to ignore Derek’s head shake with a barely there shudder. They had waited until Stiles was the one to dismiss them, eyes flashing as they slowly backed away until they slipped into Jackson’s Porsche and drove away.

Stiles bobbles his head once, hands balled in his jacket pockets. “Life was so much simpler when Peter was trying to kill us.”

Derek lets out a huff, lips twitching at the edges as he leans against the door frame. “Simpler?”

“Yup,” he replies, lips popping around the ‘p’. “We knew who the bad guy was then, now I’m not so sure.”

A stricken look graces Derek’s features, shoulders coming up to hug his ears. He doesn’t so much as lean against the door frame now, but slumps. “I’m the bad guy this time?”

Stiles’ chest seizes for a moment. “No, I don’t think you’re the bad guy. What you did was a shitty thing to do, but I don’t think you’re the bad guy. I don’t think you could ever be.”

“It’s never gonna be the same, is it?” Derek asks, eyes skirting over the tree line, like he’s refusing to make eye contact with him. “Even if we do manage to reconcile and fix the bonds, this is always going to hang over our heads. I’ve successfully lost two Packs.”

Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, Stiles takes a moment to think. It’s true what Derek says. It’s never going to be the same between him and the Pack. The trust that had been instilled into their Alpha was now all but dust, not the once solid link that bound them all together.

That didn’t necessarily mean that all was lost. It just meant that Derek, Stiles and the Pack had to build a better, _stronger_ bond.

Whether or not they would, was the question, not if they could.

“Look, it’s a double edged blade. You don’t want to forget your family, but you focusing on _how_ your family was taken is affecting you now. _It’s affecting us_.” Stiles tells him, taking a step forward and into the Alpha’s space. “You need to let go of what Kate did. I’m sorry to say this, but it’s not gonna bring them back and you keep thinking about it and using it to sway your decisions, we’re gonna be taken from you too. And the only person you can truly blame for then, is yourself.”

“They’re my family, Stiles, _my Pack_.” Derek snaps, glaring, though his eyes are cloudy as they are crimson. “I can’t just forget them.”

“Yes, they’re your family and Pack,” he agrees, reaching out to grab Derek’s hand. The fingernails on each finger has turned into a sharp claw. Stiles slowly raises the same hand and cups his throat with a warm palm, the prick of claws obvious points against his skin. “But so are we and we’re _here_ , we’re right here in the present. With you. You need to stop living in the past with them and live with _us_.”

Maybe it's not the correct way to tell Derek he needs to move on, maybe he doesn’t have that right, what with the fact he and his father still avoid the café his mother frequented for her croissant and carrot cake fix, when she was still alive.

But then, she wasn’t taken by a homicidal, vile creature that locked a family with three children in a burning house, just because of who they were. She was just taken by a disease that had no cure. There were no similarities between him and Derek, just maybe the fact they had to grow up a little faster than the rest of the kids their age.

It’s very hypocritical, he thinks a little hysterically, when the claws at his throat slowly slip away to blunt fingernails. To a gentle sweep of a thumb against his pulse.

“I’m not telling you to forget them, Derek. As a person that has lost his mother, that's the last thing I'd ever tell anyone who has lost family in a tragic way.” Stiles says, connecting their gazes. “I’m just telling you not to forget _us_ as well.”

He gives the Alpha a small smile before he’s pulling away entirely to walk down the porch steps and over to his jeep.

“Are we going to talk about the other crap you mentioned before?” Derek calls out, still in the front doorway.

“When I figure out what I’m going to say, sure.” He replies, with a shrug, not bothering to glance back at the Alpha. “Or maybe when I don’t feel like there’s missing pieces from the bigger picture.”

“You do know that I have those pieces,” Derek replies, voice a little louder for him to hear as he slips into the cab of the Jeep.

“I know,” he says, tone even as he nods, finally looking back at him and finding Derek now standing on the second porch step. “I just don’t want them right now.”

Hurt flashes over Derek’s face before it’s covered with a blank look, the one Stiles saw a lot of in the first year of meeting the werewolf.

That same guilt he felt half an hour prior, comes back with a vengeance, hot and thick behind his naval. He stops himself barely from throwing up at the sensation.

Instead, he turns the key in the ignition, then pulls out of the driveway and speeds off, feeling more confused than when he woke up this morning, piled under four different werewolves with pointy elbows and knees.

Honestly, his life _was_ simpler when it was Peter terrorizing the town.

~

“Are you actually going to ask me something, or loom around me like Derek?”

Stiles is annoyed and tired and slightly horny, but really, all he wants right now is a chocolate doughnut and a nap. He doesn’t care what order that happens in, so long as it does.

Grumbling into his Maths textbook, he ignores the physically silent, but mentally loud as fuck, she-wolf that’s taken over his bed for the night.

It’s three problem questions later that he finally gets an inkling as to why he’s got Lydia Martin in his room at quarter passed twelve on a Wednesday night.

“Are you really going to let Derek win that easily?” She asks, voice clipped and laced with disapproval.

“Do you really think _anyone_ is winning right now?” He counters, not bothering to turn around. He’s on a roll now with these problem solving questions and he doesn’t want to disturb his momentum for stupid questions. “Because from where I stand, we’re all in the running for last place.”

“I’m serious, Stiles!” She snarls, one second on his bed and the next, whirling him around in his seat to stare him down. “You were too easy on Derek! He should be a sniveling mess, _begging_ us to take him back as our Alpha, not reprimanded like a child for a few minutes in the time-out chair!”

Stiles stands up to his full height and glares down at her. “This isn’t like you punishing Jackson when he does something you didn't like, Lyds, so back off!”

Lydia rears back as if he had reached out and physically shoved her.

Stiles clenches his jaw when shame burns through his veins.

“That was uncalled for.” She whispers, wrapping her arms around her ribs, turning her face away from him.

“I’m sorry, you're right. I shouldn’t have said that.” Stiles apologises, sighs and rubs haphazardly over his hair, twisting his fingers in the strands and yanking. “But nothing about this is easy, Lyds, _nothing_. I’m trying to keep us all alive here and I really don’t need you in my ear and questioning everything. I’m already doing that on my own.”

“What he did to you –“ she begins, green eyes flashing dangerously, which is a lot scarier than when she lets her wolf counterparts reach the surface, at him.

“I know what he did to me, I was there.” He snaps, interrupting her, gaze narrowed. “But what you need to understand is, my hurt feelings don’t take precedence over the Pack’s safety right now, and I’d appreciate it if I had your support in that or else we’re all dead, and I die without telling Derek what a complete asshole he is for taking away my Pack, without much thought as to _what it would do to me_ , before a month later, having the nerve to shove me against a door and _kissing_ me like I mean a goddamn thing to him!”

By the end, his chest is heaving with how hard his heart pounds, and his fists are balled so tightly by his sides that he can feel them shake with how furious he is.

Lydia stares at him, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide.

He turns away from her with an angry mutter and begins to pace along the edge of his bed.

“I know right now, it looks like I’m giving into Derek and letting him back in,” he continues still pacing, “And trust me, it makes me angry that it looks like that because I have some self-worth, but we have more Hunters coming here to Beacon Hills. They’re going to question us if we’re an established Pack, if we don’t pose a threat to the town and the secrecy of werewolves and the people that Hunt them. We need Derek and he needs us. Until then, we’re just gonna have to push the bullshit aside and act as a Pack.”

Lydia reaches out and Stiles finds himself with an armful of she-wolf, his ribs protesting at the strength behind the hug she’s giving him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” She murmurs into his chest. “I just seen how he hurt you, how he hurt us and then saw how you were talking about getting everyone back together again like nothing happened and – and I didn’t like it.”

Nuzzling his nose into her hair, he nods in understanding. “I haven’t forgotten, it’s just been pushed to the side for now. Maybe if we get out of this all alive, we can talk everything out then.”

His words again sound hypocritical, what he said to Derek about forgetting what Kate did to his family, echoing in his ears. He doesn’t know how he can keep going with all these contradictions, isn’t sure if he wants to even think about them, let alone _sort_ through them. All he knows is that he needs to keep their Pack safe, and if being hypocritical helps him do just that, then he’ll accept those consequences when the time comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I struggled? Writing is hard.
> 
> Also, why did I use so much italics in this?


	18. Chapter Eighteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pack take steps towards readying themselves for the Enforcers and Stiles realises something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this should have been posted two weeks ago, but due to some laptop malfunction, I lost the update and had to restart the chapter from scratch, hence the lateness. But better late than never, yes? And in the same year, too! *throws confetti*
> 
> Not much advancement in the plot line, I think?? But enjoy my babies!
> 
> You're all beautiful. <33

Stiles is having dinner with his father for the first time in what feels like a long time. With everything that’s happened and with everything that’s happening now, being able to sit down and share a meal with his father and talk about normal things sounds like bliss.

“Am I gonna have to keep an eye out for these Enforcers then?” His father asks.

Well, as normal as things can be with werewolves constantly in your life.

“Probably,” he replies, frowning. He pierces a piece of tomato and pops it into his mouth. “Chris kinda implied that they follow a different set of Codes that have a harsher penalty, if you don’t follow them. They could just be really morally ambiguous.”

“Still doesn’t mean they won’t hurt you or anyone else that interferes.” Dad says, eyebrows raised.

Stiles nods, reaching out for his cup of water to take a sip. Instead, the glass slips from his fingers and onto the table, throwing water over it and down onto his lap. He can’t even be bothered by it, because it feels like his entire body is being electrocuted, like he’s been hooked up to a live wire and left there.

It takes Stiles a moment to think over the burning sensation racing through his veins, that this is what the Pack has been experiencing, this excruciating pain that has him biting down on his tongue and the sides of his cheeks, blood hot and thick in his mouth. He can feel each and every muscle in his body clench painfully, like the very tissue was tearing away from bone every time the spasm occurred, the agony slowly growing in volume.

He doesn’t realise he slipped out of the chair and onto the floor, staring blankly up at the kitchen ceiling as he convulses, until his father’s terrified face pops into view. Stiles can’t hear him, can’t hear him over the roar of his pulse in his ears, but Stiles can see he’s shouting, hands frantic on his shoulders and the back of his head, cupping it so he doesn’t bash it against the tile beneath them.

Stiles thinks it’s a blessing in disguise that his vision tunnels out and fades to black.

~

“He was really terrified,” Jackson says, voice soft. “I thought when Madison had you and Allison, he was scared, but when he called us all here, he looked absolutely terrified. He didn’t know how to fix it.”

Stiles’ chest hurts, burns actually, feels like an actual bonfire is sitting on his solar plexus and making him struggle for each rattling breathe. There’s a sharp pain that twists behind his rib-cage, and he’s not sure if it’s from Jackson’s words or from what happened to him on his kitchen floor, a few hours before. The Pack is around him on his bed, fast asleep save for him and Jackson, their bodies close with Allison wedged in-between them. He’s pretty sure if the Pack wasn’t here, his father would be laid out beside him instead, either to keep an eye on him or to make sure he really was okay.

He’s in his own bed though, his door open and Stiles’ as well, a policy that had little to do with having Lydia, Erica and Allison in his bed, but more because if something else were to happen, his father would hear it.

“We’re way over our heads with this,” Jackson continues, eyes flittering over the Pack before meeting his. “Seeing your father’s face tonight made me realise that.”

The entire inside of Stiles’ mouth aches from where his teeth had clamped down like a vice, shredding the insides of his cheeks and sides of his tongue. He’s pretty sure he can still taste blood.

“We need to get the Pack together, if only just for a while until we can figure out what we’re gonna do next.” Stiles whispers, carding his fingers through a snuffling Scott’s hair. He shuffles a little to the left to get his best friend’s chin out from digging a dent into his stomach. “These seizures or whatever are getting worse, like they’re escalating to something. I honestly don’t want to find out what that is.”

“Maybe – do you think Derek would know?” Jackson questions.

Stiles keeps a tight control over his heart rate, refuses to let Jackson know the question affects him. It doesn’t, not really, but Stiles knows that if the werewolf were to hear his skidding pulse, he’d just throw the idea of asking, of _talking_ to Derek out the window. And right now, that’s something they can’t really afford to lose.

“I’m sure Derek would have spoken about it, if he did. It’s affecting him too, so he has no reason to hide any information from us.” Stiles replies, reaching out to pat Jackson’s hand before sliding it down to swipe a gentle, soothing thumb over the werewolf’s pulse. He isn’t surprised to find it pounding quickly.

“Jacks?” Erica asks, sleepily, head popping up from where it was slumped against Isaac’s chest, clearly waking up to the harsh beat of Jackson’s pulse.

“I’m okay,” He whispers back, smiling softly in reassurance. “Go back to sleep.”

He and Stiles wait until she nods wobbly before snuggling closer to Isaac, Boyd wrapping the both of them up in his arms and tugging them closer in his sleep.

“He hid the fact he was going to kick you out of the Pack from us.” Jackson says, when Erica’s soft breathes reach their ears. His tone is gentle, even if there’s a hard frown tugging at his mouth. “He hid it from _you_. I’m not really in a position to believe you when you say he’d never keep us in the dark about something.”

Which, fair. Jackson has a point. Stiles is a little stumped in what to say to that.

Luckily for him, Jackson just blinks sleepily at him before burying his face in Allison’s hair, clearly dismissing anything Stiles could say.

It’s a long time before Stiles can fall asleep himself.

~

Derek looks equal parts uncomfortable and confused at having Chris Argent in his home, but Stiles knows from the determined furrow playing between his eyebrows, that he’s going to play nice with Chris until the problem has been taken care of.

Stiles is more than relieved. After the night he’s had with finally getting his turn with the pains that have plagued the Pack and nearly frightening his father into an early grave, he honestly doesn’t want to fight.

“They’ll question you,” Chris explains, looking everyone in the eye, silently telling them the severity of the situation. “To see if you’re lying or keeping anything hidden.”

Lydia is frowning beside Erica, her head tilted to the side as she plays with an errant curl. “What I can’t seem to understand is, why there are only Hunters that’s doing this ‘enforcing’? It seems a little too one sided for my liking. How do we know they won’t just say we’re dangerous for the population and kill us off anyway?”

Derek growls in protest and agreement to Lydia’s questions.

“Because Hunters wouldn’t allow a Pack to have that much authority,” Allison replies, bluntly, tossing her father a half-hearted glare. It’s the same face that tells Stiles she doesn’t agree to that answer at all. “Because they believe it’d get out of hand and there would be an uprising on their hands.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question,” Scott says, grimacing at his girlfriend. “They have all the power here and I don’t like it.”

“Look, I’ll put in a good word for the Pack, but that’s all I can do with being a somewhat reference for you all.” Chris interrupts, before anyone else can. “I’ll be under scrutiny as well. All of the Argent Clan will be, Allison doubly so since she’s head of the Clan and a member of the Hale Pack.”

“Well, we’re saved then.” Erica snaps, fidgeting by Isaac’s side. “Our mere existence riding on your testimony that we won’t chew on someone’s spleen if they piss us off? Piece of cake.”

Stiles glares over at Erica from across the room, his glare backed up by a heavy growl from Derek, who’s standing beside him. Erica ducks her head down with a flash of her eyes, her hands clenching and unclenching before her.

“Sorry,” She apologises, gaze still averted. “I’m a little frazzled at the moment. I’m sure you can understand.”

Chris doesn’t bother in looking offended, just nods softly back in reply, a look of said understanding playing on his face.

“So what, we just answer some questions about us being one happy, functional Pack and that’s it?” Boyd questions, looking suspicious. “Seems like a waste of time on their part to come out all this way for a quick game of twenty one questions.”

“By the looks of things, yeah.” Stiles says, shrugging. “It’s not like they can tell we’re lying. It’ll be easy to pass, we know nearly everything about one another, especially the things and people we’ve had to eliminate to save Beacon Hills.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Chris speaks, suddenly looking five types of uncomfortable. “They’ll be able to tell you’re lying.”

Stiles tosses him a funny look before snorting. “Do they hook us up to lie detectors?”

“No, they’ll have an Omega with them to hear your heartbeat.” The older Hunter replies, keeping his chin up and his eyes directly connected with his. “To save their own skin, they’ll let them know that you’re lying.”

Stiles furrows his eyebrows in confusion at the words. What the hell did that mean?

As he continues to stare at the Hunter, notices the way he’s posture has gone tense, like he’s readying himself for a fight, it dawns on Stiles what he meant and he feels his hands ball up tightly into fists.

There’s another growl that comes from Derek, one that Stiles uses as his own as he snarls out, “You keep an Omega on a leash and use them like your own _personal lap dogs_?!”

“Not once have I ever used that method!” Chris snaps back, glaring.

The growls that had picked up after Derek, grow in volume as Jackson stands from his seat in the Hale house living room.

“Oh alert the media, there’s at least _one_ good Hunter out there,” Jackson sneers, folding his arms across his chest. “He’d never use a werewolf like that, to say so would be _insulting_.”

“You’re lying, I can hear your heartbeat.” Erica adds in, eyes flashing. She stands up too, bares her teeth over at the older Hunter. “You _have_ used that method!”

“Back off, Erica,” Allison warns, subconsciously moving to stand between her and her father.

It’s the only thing that stops Stiles from arguing, from accidentally escalating this into a fight between them all, where werewolf and Hunter fight again like they had before.

“Stop, stop.” Stiles says, waving his hands in the air. Everyone does, save for Derek, who’s growls gradually wither away to nothing. He turns to face his Pack. “We’ve got to remember Ally has re-enforced a new Code and Chris abides by it. Even if he did use Omegas as lie detectors, he isn’t anymore.” He swings his gaze back over to Chris and Allison and glares hard. “Am I right?”

It’s silent for a few moments and he feels Derek crowd up behind him, his chest echoing with a growing rumble.

Chris glances behind Stiles before he nods, his jaw clenched tightly. “Yes, you’re right.”

“Good.” Stiles says, nodding himself and the heat coming from Derek’s body disappears from his back. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, can we get back onto the problem at hand?”

He swings his gaze around at everyone, stares them down, even Derek when all he does is glare nastily at Chris. The Alpha doesn’t back down like the rest of the Pack does, but he does concede to Stiles’ point with a nod after a few moments of tense silence.

“So, what are we gonna do to trick the Omega?”

~

“That’s a lie!” Lydia cries out, pointing a manicured finger straight at his nose.

Stiles can’t help but grin cheekily at her, even going so far as to throw a wink at her.

“You’re the one that scratched up Finstock’s car?” Jackson laughs, clapping in delight. “He made Greenburg run suicides until he threw up.”

He shrugs. “It would have been a lot worse for me if I had confessed.”

He ended up giving Greenburg eighty bucks for his silence and to get rid of the guilt he’d been feeling. It hadn’t actually gotten rid of said guilt but whatever. Greenburg had been eighty bucks richer and his wallet lighter.

“People told me they _saw_ Greenburg do it!” Lydia argues, looking disappointed that she lost. “Or was that just _you_?!”

His grin widens.

“So what was the lie?” Scott asks, grinning at Lydia’s splutters.

“Heather wasn’t my first kiss.” Stiles says, glancing down at his fingernails. He tries not to glance across the room at the person who’s probably trying not to give themselves away as well.

Allison nudges his side with an elbow, a giggle taking up in her voice as she says, “Who was it then?”

Finally glancing up, Stiles rolls his bottom lip between his teeth in a fake show of debate and says, “You gonna tell them, or should I?”

“Me,” Isaac pipes up from between Derek and Erica, sending an overzealous wink at him.

The room erupts into shouts and laughter.

~

After the game of ‘two truths and one lie’, the Pack had left the Hale house, giggling and voicing their disbelief at some of the things they’d found out, almost sounding like the Pack they were before everything went to shit.

It left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. He missed those days.

“I can do that,” A voice says, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ll do it after my run.”

He stops in cleaning the sitting room down and finds Derek standing in the entryway, dressed in nothing but a pair of running shoes and sweats. Stiles is momentarily distracted by all that bare skin and muscles, so he just bobbles his head in agreement.

Derek smiles a little unsurely, before he jerks his head to the front door. “You should get home. Your father will be worried if you’re not home when he gets there from the Station.”

Ignoring the fact that Derek seems to know his father’s work schedule, Stiles finds a burning begin to bubble in his stomach, when the Alpha turns to leave.

“You never said anything about wanting to keep me alive and safe.” Stiles blurts out, stopping Derek from walking away. “The night you came to my room and gave me that ‘I don’t belong in the Pack because I’m a useless human’ crap. You never once mentioned that you were trying to protect me.”

Derek stares at him before he shake his head, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I never once called you useless.”

“No, but you _implied_ it. No, what you said was that I was a liability, but let's not get into the details.” Stiles says, suddenly feeling angry that Derek thought this was a funny moment to laugh at. “And don’t dodge the question.”

“You haven’t actually asked me anything, Stiles.” The Alpha replies, smile on his face growing. “You’re the one that’s telling me I should use question marks in sentences when appropriate.”

“Don’t patronise me!” He growls out, fists balled at his hips. “You know what I’m asking. You wanted to protect me, that’s what you said. Why?”

Derek’s smile slides from his face as quick as it appeared, before a look of disbelief takes its place. He squints at him. “Why do you think, Stiles? Because I _care_ about you. I _care_ about what happens to our Pack.”

“Obviously not enough to care that you’re the one that’s hurting me.” Stiles throws back, folding his arms across his chest.

He tries to stomp down on the small flicker of warmth that flares in his chest at having Derek admit he cares. It works but it also doesn’t.

“You don’t understand.” Derek laughs, the sound hollow and full of incredulity. He shakes his head again and turns to move towards the front door. “Go home Stiles, get some rest. You look like you need it.”

“Then make me understand!” Stiles begs, darting forward and reaching a hand out to grab Derek’s.

The Alpha starts, eyes flashing red before disappearing to the multiple colours Stiles is used to. The eye flashing isn't done to warn Stiles off, he knows, but even if it were, Stiles wouldn't back down. Not now that he's opened the can of worms he swore he wasn't going to open, until a later date.

“Please,” he says, gripping around a rough palm tightly. “I need to understand what you were thinking that day you kicked me out. It’s all I can think of sometimes, it’s all I can breathe as I try and figure out what you were doing. I could read you before, you know that? I could read you like an open book, but that day, you were completely different. You were closed off.”

It’s silent between them and it stretches for so long, that Stiles is trying to think of something else to say that will fill the silence, when Derek’s entire body shudders on a shaky exhale.

“I listened to Laura scream minutes after our house was burnt down and our family was killed. I _listened_ to her cry herself to sleep and there was nothing I could do to fix it. To right _my_ wrongs.” Derek takes a deep breathe in, holds it as he closes his eyes before releasing his breathe slowly. He doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks. “When your pulse began to slow down that night with Aiden, it brought that memory back. Both those nights have horribly reminded me that I can’t protect everyone, that I’m not as strong as I think I am. I thought if you weren’t there in the middle of things fighting for your life, it would keep you safer than I or the Pack ever could. More so me, than the Pack.”

Stiles swallows harshly. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Especially since this is a lot of Derek’s inner thoughts and feelings he’s ever got in the time that he’s known the werewolf.

“What about the kiss?” He asks instead, heart in his throat.

“A lapse of restraint on my part.” Derek winces, moving to remove Stiles’ hand from his. “I wasn’t going to make my feelings known until after you turned eighteen, until you experienced life at college or – or maybe after dating. I don’t know, either way, that’s another thing I screwed up, so it doesn’t matter now.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” Stiles shakes his head, grips his hand tighter around Derek’s. “‘We discuss everything together, in regards to the Pack’ that’s what you said to us the day we accepted your claim as our Alpha! So don’t give me that shit about how you’re the Alpha and your word is law. And whatever is happening between us, should be _between_ us, not just one half! You don’t get the final say with _any_ of that by yourself! Do you understand me?!”

His chest heaves and his throat hurts from how loud he shouts, but he doesn’t regret any of it. He doesn’t regret that his heart pounds with how furious he is, doesn’t care that his scent matches it.

Derek swallows harshly before he reaches out with his other hand and gently pries Stiles’ fingers away from his. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter now.”

“What doesn’t matter now?” Stiles asks, watching Derek head towards the front door. “Me being in the Pack or what’s going on with you and me.”

Derek pauses after opening the door, his shoulders tense by his ears. He visibly forces himself to relax, head rolling around in that telling away he’s seconds away from shifting.

“I think you know which one.” Derek whispers, glancing over his shoulder before walking out the front door.

~

Stiles doesn’t remember leaving the house, doesn’t remember driving home or walking up the porch steps and into his house. He doesn’t remember walking straight to his father’s bedroom and slipping his shoes and jacket off, before burying himself under the sheets in the centre of the bed.

All he can remember, all he can think of, is Derek’s words echoing in his head.

_I think you know which one._

And the thing is Stiles does. He knows which one Derek is speaking of.

The fact that Derek had removed his banishment of Stiles from the Pack says a lot. He wanted Stiles in the Pack, by the looks of things, didn’t want Stiles to leave in the first place, despite his misguided martyrdom taking front seat in making the decision.

No, Derek is talking about the uncertainty of what their relationship between them was, what the nature of it was. Were they just Packmates or could they be more?

The finality in Derek’s voice back at the house tells him now.

Tears begin to slide down Stiles' face and he isn’t sure of why. He feels hollowed out, like he’s just lost something he never really had the chance to grasp on with two hands, only just getting a fleeting touch, a taste of.

Burying his face into a soft pillow, that was once scented with Jasmine, Stiles cries that much harder.

~

Stiles wakes to a gentle hand rubbing the crown of his head.

“Hey Kiddo,” his father whispers, coming into view with a soft smile. “Last time you slept in here, you thought aliens disguised as clowns were coming for you. What’s wrong?”

He blinks dazedly, confused for a moment as to why he’s in his father’s bedroom, before everything comes rushing back to him. A sharp pang echoes in his chest, conveniently where his heart is, and Stiles takes a shaky breathe in, in the hopes to lessen the pain.

“Stiles?” His father asks, frowning now, a worried crease playing between his eyebrows.

He smiles as best as he can and shakes his head. Says, “It doesn’t matter now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra points to whoever guesses the movie/book I was referring to. I am terrified of clowns because of them. *shudders*


End file.
